Flavor Of The Week

The Gonzo Journals

April 30th, 2023

Sunday has arrived. A day of recouperation. A day for reflection. A day to ponder the next steps.

My little black cat is chirping at me to give her some attention. She can’t meow because someone tried to choke her out as a kitten and crushed her voice box, if cats have a voice box. I don’t know. I’ve never dissected a cat. Anyway, she “keeks”, so we named her Keekers. I think it was Lyla at first, but no one ever called her that. Then, it was Skeekers for a bit until we narrowed it down to Keekers. It’s cute and so is she. She’s currently letting me know there is a snake behind me. I know. I’m the one that put it there. Still, she must warn me. Daily.

She has a special bond with my Hognose snake Ziggy Piggy (kudos if you know where that name comes from). He will crawl up to her inside his enclosure and do this Axl Rose serpentine thing to get her attention. She’ll keek and tap the glass until the humans in the household acknowledge her snake alarm. If she moves, the snake follows. He’s a little extra this morning to remind me it is feeding day. He’ll stare at me until I thaw a mouse and do so. Anyone who says snakes don’t have a personality also claim we are alone in the universe. When the aliens make themselves known, I hope those people are the first to get diddled in their boo hole.

It has officially been ten days since I lost my childhood dream job and it’s beginning to look as though there’s no going back. I’ve accepted it. I’m still pissed, but I’ve accepted it. I have things to write, and I’ll be unable to accomplish that goal if I wallow in self-pity from my past. Those people responsible will get what’s coming to them at some point. It may be from me personally, or it may be from karma. Life is energy, after all, and it’s real. It has no difficulty proving it to you repeatedly if you’re smart enough to acknowledge. Every modern author enjoys their flavor of the week attention when they release a new title or get called to the carpet by some crazy ex disguised as someone else’s crazy ex. Does that make sense?

The profile pictures on social media advertising the disgust of the cancel culture movement are returning to normal photos – or a pic of a cat if they’re fake or just plain meh. The requests for signed copies of Zoe have dwindled to nothing as well. That’s a good thing because I ran out. It’s the only title I still need to go through a publisher to obtain author copies. I haven’t heard from them at all since this fiasco began. This title may have gained more attention than any other title they sponsored, yet…crickets. Unfortunately, it is what it is. You can’t make people care. You’ll drive yourself insane trying.

Between keeking cats and needy snakes, I have my hands full. This week begins the release of Extinguished, a novel published a few years ago but the publisher – same as above – managed to lose the manuscript upon the changing of the guard. Also, I plan to climb back on my bicycle to lose about 60lbs. I have the blu tooth speaker already charged up to offend trust fund babies on the biking trails by playing Alice Cooper or Warrant at deafening levels. I’ve already spent a wonderful weekend with my wife.

Maybe this was supposed to happen.

For nine straight months I spent every spare moment on that train fulfilling a childhood dream. Although I didn’t make it all the way to engineer, I now know almost everything there is to know about the inner workings of a century plus old steam locomotive. It’ll make for some detailed storytelling at some point. I really missed being around my family, though, and they’re my biggest supporters toward everything I do. It was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together, bridging my existence between the railroad guru and the disgusting author. Bruce Wayne fucks up a lot by doing this as well. I’m not saying I’m Batman, just that no one has ever seen me and Batman at the same place at the same time.

Enjoy your Sunday. Tomorrow brings the next big thing, whatever that may be.

Peace.