Got This Idea…

Drowning in my head. It runs on espresso and faith these days, that what comes out of my brain, down into my fingers and into cyberspace, that something makes it through the tangle of memes and Joan Rivers eulogy tweets, re-tweets etc. Since change is a slow process, and I am merely getting better, let me say what a sad, sad day it was, that we are a little bit lighter in the cultural banks. I can only hope someone out there can fill the niche of red carpet judgments. How else will I know if things are fashionable.

Guess I am alright with being a bit jaded, or what some would call a jerk, ass hole or my preferred label, realist.

“What are you wearing today Mike?”
“Umm, it’s a Nike swimsuit and a Hanes white t-shirt.”
“Who put that together, it looks…raw.”
“Reality. This is what happens when you lose everything to needled idols.”
“Reality, can’t wait to see the rest of his Fall collection.”
 I am distracted, pretty easily, because they come from within, my thoughts kind of collide, always doubling themselves, and it’s hard to pay attention to any of them, but I soldier on, try to pay attention and put the right one out there. If only I had a mental remote control and could frame by frame advance the really good stuff…

GoPro for the mind. GoPro for people on benders, because in this condition, those under the influence seem a bit…off. Be a hell of a TV show though, Ted, wired up, goes out, blacks out after his 10th shot of tequila, and then just goes on autopilot. I’m sure he’d want to know where he parked his car, why he has on a polka dotted clown nose, wasn’t red good enough, such is the desire to be unique, and where is he exactly? All of this answered at the press of a button. What good is technology if we don’t use it for, let’s say good.

Randomness. Not real happy with Aaron Rogers. Or myself for starting him last night. Do I really need to take a number when only one person is in front of me? Does the person who comes after me, and takes the number I would have if I conformed in that moment, really think she is going ahead of me? And I don’t even really like deli meats. Sheeple.

Sometimes though, the common bonds once seemingly pinned to my uncommonness, they are the ones that are saving me. Good Gouda.

I am happy to announce Nazi Ninja Zombie Vampires from Mars in Love VS. Super Hero Robot Werewolves from Poughkeepsie is my newest pursuit, my respite from my own story, and yeah, I am being serious, that is the title, and I am working on that awesome bit of fiction, which reminds me, Trey Parker, Matt Stone, call me, and the memoir with the regularity of Jaime Lee Curtis after supplementing 3 cans of Metamucil with her yogurt she hawks.

Yeah. so there’s that to look forward too, and the notion that I write better high, such a delusion. A lot of people think that way, but a cloudy brain only allows storms to pour out, and while that tragic flaw produces some pretty profound conveyances of pain, in the end, it gets boring when there is no juxtaposition. Honey Ham, turkey and Swiss, and in need of a Panini press and some plum dipping sauce, Monte Cristo love affair over The Grand Budapest Hotel, thank you very much Adam.

Funny how I have 3 Adams in my life, ok, 2 and an Atom, and they are all really cool people, yet, there are others named something akin to a certain clown who wears a yellow jumper with red striped socks, and serves up clogged arteries, but does help kids in his houses, that name, don’t know a lot of good ones. Just one of fate’s ironies.

Like that though, like it’s a clue, some psychic parlor trick where a book can be judged by its cover based on prior experiences or experiments proving the same resultant character limitations. Same results doing the same things, so I swallow the blue pill this time and don’t really care to undress reality and pick and choose what sexy is. After all, Joan can’t guide me. Yeah, I went back there, sorry. Death isn’t a joking matter, don’t ever think I don’t know that. Especially, when we courted for a long, long time, and when she tried to tease me, or play the hold out ’til we get married thing, I tried to force the issue.

That’s some literary allusion for suicide. I chased it with every shot, hoping, but never was willing to corner her, and load up a syringe with way more than “normal,” and yeah, I see the humor in using status quo there, hence the quotes, funny how a junkie’s perspective of the ho-hum grind of daily life comes out sometimes. But yeah, when my eyes opened after that moment of ultimate desperation, I realized I didn’t need to die to make all the pain stop. That’s one bit of perspective, one bit of rational thought that slammed its way through the chaotic illusions that constantly masqueraded for life.

Things aren’t so tough today. There’s no early morning panic attacks, they are replaced by deciding what cereal should I eat, Cap N’ Crunch, Golden Grahams or go some sort of granola direction. I like that I can drink some coffee, smoke a cigarette and breathe. There is no clamor pushing me to scam out one more fix, do anything to not be sick. At the very least, I have that gift today. And when I pay attention to the world around me, I see I have so much more. 78 days ago, a lady pulled her child close to her as she passed by me, a me that seems so foreign in today’s light, and today strangers smile and say hello to me.

A wise man told me to really make it through this life, always be grateful.



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