Everything’s Gonna Be All Right. Rockabye.

The Gonzo Journals

March 25th, 2023

I normally don’t write on the weekends. Instead, I slip out of bed so my darling wife can get some well-deserved rest. Ah, how the mind wanders when you’re left to your own devices in a quiet house. Quiet outsides usually create internal arguments.

Facebook memories are usually the first things brought to my attention in the wee hours of the mornings. Not that I intentionally go looking for them, they just seem to pop up. Facebook knows exactly how to prick the nostalgic nerves upon opening your eyes to the great unknown day. Depression sells alcohol which, in turn, sells grave plots. Capitalism is alive and well in America, baby!

My biggest memory from this day happened six years ago. I’d purchased tickets to see who I consider to be the greatest, most underrated musician of all time at a small venue in Dallas called The Kessler. Ironically, I live a few blocks away from this place now, but I’ve never seen the inside of it. No, I skipped that concert and gave those tickets to a friend. She never made that show either. Life happens.

The reason I didn’t go to the show is because the owner of The Texan Theater in my hometown of Greenville, Texas managed to book an intimate showing the night before. Granted, tickets were $300 each, but that included a five-course meal and our alcohol. Also, most of her shows include a small meet and greet with the artists if they choose to participate. The owner gave me two tickets out of pure love for my local artistic antics. I hate gifts, but I couldn’t refuse. Sometimes it pays to be an idiotic attention whore!

Attending with me was this Marjorie Taylor Greene wannabe chick who I’d been secretly dating for quite a while. It was a secret because she was still married. Now, when I say still married, I mean still living with her husband and family who had no idea whatsoever that a divorce was on the horizon. How incredibly stupid was I? Completely. This relationship went on for two years causing the worst state of my mental health to basically drown itself in a steady flow of alcoholic beverages nonstop daily. Like I needed help. In the end, I was the poster boy for her divorce, she was banging a coworker behind my back, and they soon got married about the same time my current wife and I decided to tie the knot. Because coincidental timing? This little plot tarnished my reputation, cost me several lifelong friends, and turned me into hometown author super whore supreme for about a year. I can’t blame anyone but myself. I mean, I technically didn’t slip, fall, and land in her lap. I went there of my own free will. Silly bastard, “tricks” are for kids! I can still smell Marlboro Lights, latex gloves, and what I now know is the aftermath of redneck fireman sex upon the wind whenever she’d open my front door. In hindsight, it got me where I am today. Happy, but burned. Her old husband may have deserved a lot of things, but he never deserved THAT. I will forever hate myself for participating. It’s not at all who I am as a person.

Anyway, back to the story. I had mentioned Shawn Mullins in a poetry book published by my old literary agent in the UK and loved his entire catalog. As a matter of fact, my favorite song of all time is this one right here:

If you’re interested in following his musical career further, check this out as well. Just hit ‘random’. You’re golden.

Anyway, I recognized one of his band mates as he walked through the lobby of the theater. I took a deep breath and approached him. I told him who I was, what I did, and how much of an influence Shawn’s music had been on me over the years. He thanked me, took the book, and I assumed that would be the end of it. I watched the show, loved every second of it, cried, and prepared to leave the theater with Marjorie Taylor Greene’s doppelganger.

Just as I was about to leave, his bandmate burst through a squad of groupies and announced he was looking for “The Poet”. That was me. The rest is all a huge blur.

I remember bits and pieces of the conversation. He returned inside the theater smelling “nice” if you catch my drift. He’d been outside watching a band play from the shadows of the bar next door. I was star struck for the first time in my life. We talked about songs, albums, travels, and potential future projects together. After about a half hour of fan boying it up, I departed the meeting with a permanent smile upon my face. My legs ceased working upon leaving the theater and I collapsed to the floor in laughter. I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

I’ve met my fair share of celebrities since then in the music, film, and horror industries, but none of them were as meaningful as the time I met Shawn Mullins. I just wish it all could’ve taken place with someone in tow who didn’t turn out to be a complete and total twat waffle. I’ve tried to kill that part of my life due to the consequences which ensued, but that would mean I’d be forced to forget that one brief moment when I was shown pure, ultimate, unbelievable happiness.

That chick is now a permanent part of my memories by proxy due to this. She should be so fucking lucky. After all this time and effort, everything is finally all right in my world. Rockabye.


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