Recovery

The Gonzo Journals

May 9th, 2023

A fourteen-hour drive, a three-day music festival, and then another fourteen-hour drive to top it all off. I’m not sure how many more of these things my old body has left in me but, then again, I’ve always been a whiney bitch and my age is inconsequential to the argument. At least I didn’t have to babysit a wasted friend or need a friend to babysit the wasted C. Derick Miller. I babysat my own wasted self and managed fine. I didn’t have a drop of alcohol, but my legalized gummies allowed me a 72-hour vacation in the spirit world. Yes, I DID see the size of that chicken.

Atlanta is a beautiful, friendly city. Don’t let the media fool you into believing it’s the land of rap album murders and political idiots like Hershell Walker’s failed attempt at becoming a werewolf or Marjorie Taylor Green’s Marlboro Light/cat dander smelling ass. I think MTG is actually Taylor Swift from the future after mimicking Stevie Nicks for too long. Don’t tell anyone though. I promised I’d keep that a secret. I don’t want to summon the wrath of the giraffe neck. Seriously, Taylor Swift’s neck is so long, random strangers approach her to see if she needs to phone home. No lie. Her neck is so damn long, random old men pop up to say “Welcome To Jurassic Park” whenever she goes to the salad bar. It must be nice to have your rich Dad buy your first million albums to launch you into super stardom. I don’t think she’s from Atlanta and all this additional information is totally irrelevant, I just wanted to make the Jurassic Park joke. I find it funny. Pop musicians are moving in herds. They do move in herds…

You could never have a Shaky Knees-esque multi day festival in Dallas. They build things here by bulldozing the natural landscape and pouring reflective concrete to make sure you’re nice and cooked by the time the first band finishes their set. Also, Dallas is so damn trashy, people would think they missed the concert already when they first came in the gate. Nope, we just call that Tuesday. Last – but not least – fights and shootings would break out in the parking lot before anyone at all had a drink of alcohol. Grown men screaming “my truck nuts are bigger than your truck nuts” would battle Jedi style with tire irons while their MTG wannabe girlfriends pulled each other’s hair while secretly fingering each other’s butthole. I mean, it must be secretive, right? They wouldn’t want to advertise their love of butt stuff to the public. Gotta maintain the facade!

Nope, the city of Atlanta (although under construction by a city planner who gobbled down too many magic mushrooms before picking up the pencil) was friendly, clean, and beautiful. Best of all, their miniature version of Central Park was covered in trees, and they still managed to accommodate four stages surrounded by thousands of people. After the shows, there was minimal trash, but the recycling bins were overflowing. In the end, it IS down to the individual to make it appear as though we, as a society, collectively give a shit.

Now I’m home, cleaning up after five days of a human free cat house and feeding snakes. I opened my mail to reveal questionable MRI results stemming from a major skateboarding accident when I was thirteen years old. It would appear as though that smack to the head may have had some long-lasting damage and it could affect me in the long term. It was bad, and I remember it well. I had a soft spot on the back of my head for six months like when you drop an apple. To this day, if I get super stressed or if I laugh a lot, I’ll get headaches. Who knows, maybe Alzheimer’s will set in early and I’ll get to meet each and every one of you all over again for the first time. There are some things you’ll never recover from regardless of time or tears. Mentally or physically. Mind your step.

I joke, but that’s how I deal with life. I mean, I can’t control the outcome, so I might as well have fun with it. I’m not scared to die, but I do fear for the sadness the woman I love might endure if I were to depart this screwed up planet. I have no problem being the Starving Zoe guy from now until the inevitable apocalypse (which will most likely be in the next few years if you believe everything you hear on the news). Historically, people will love it so much after I’m gone, they’ll bore out novella sized glory holes in my honor. Maybe Six Flags will name a ride after it. Fans don’t care about your life but secretly crave your death. Jim Morrison said something along those lines and, fifty years later, his fans hadn’t proven him wrong. I’m not sure how many “I told you so’s” you’re allowed to have in the afterlife.

Peace.

PS – The top five best acts from Shaky Knees 2023? Greta Van Fleet, Tenacious D, 311, Muse, and The Flaming Lips. In that order. Honorable mentions: The Black Angels, The Killers, and LIVE.