The Gonzo Journals
May 25th, 2023
It’s another morning when I’m staring at a white background wondering what words to throw your way. It’s not like it’s been a slow news week. I mean, it probably never will be again if politicians and warmongers have anything to do with it. No, I’m not blocked. I just need a little push in the right direction. Where to begin…
My Hognose snake Ziggy Piggy is behind me doing laps as always. It’s only been a few days since he’s eaten but he’s exhibiting signs of hunting behavior. All the data I’ve read tells me he will eat whenever you allow him, but I think it changes from snake to snake. He was recently on a hunger strike after all. He’s developed enough of a personality to where he gets super angry whenever I try to handle him. As long as I’m persistent, he calms down and chills out in my hand. To be honest, I’m still waiting for the day when those tiny little fangs penetrate my skin and I swell up like a balloon at a child’s birthday party. Still, I love him more than I think I’ve ever cared for a pet. He’s moved to the side of his enclosure in which I write so he can keep an eye on me. Curious snake.
My adorable black cat Skeekers is rubbing against my legs below my writing desk. She was a rescue, and choked out by some evil human as a kitten which prevents her from meowing like a normal cat. Instead, she ‘keeks’ and vocalizes whenever she wants to communicate, which is pretty much every second of every day. It took several years for her to let us hold and pet her, but I think she’s finally calmed down to us. On the flip side of that, no one else on the planet has ever seen her. She stays upstairs whenever we have guests. They think we’re lying about having another cat. I’ll laughingly play this game until the end of time. If people think I’m crazy, it means I have the advantage when they least expect it. Now, she’s hopped up on the dresser for her morning commune with the Hognose snake. I think they’re having a ‘thing’. Interesting.
Today marks the 145th day in a row I’ve written, whether that be something random or something I’ll release professionally. I won’t go into too much detail, because I think the world is running out of surprises. The internet has spoiled the anxiety that goes along with not knowing most things. Good things, I mean, not bad things. We know those are coming because they never fucking stop! I think I’m going to keep my future writing projects a secret from social media until it gets near time for release. There are some spying eyes out there looking for a come up, and I’d hate to put a lot of work out there just to have it stolen and rebranded. Don’t even get me started on AI. That’s the beginning of the end for artists in my opinion.
Finally, today also marks the 145th day in a row I’ve taken some legal Texas CBD products to help deal with the pain – I’m a disabled Army veteran – and put me into the relax cycle when the sun goes down. For years, this was the time of the day when my brain ran wild and wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to do so. I was on anxiety medication from the time the pandemic began until 145 days ago. When the kid goes to sleep and there’s no more important events for the day, I pop a gummy, drift off into what I like to call ‘pillow’ mode, throw on some music and play some 80’s arcade games, or watch a film with the wife. I don’t care what conservative politicians tell you, there is nothing like slipping off into a pseudo coma after dark to reflect on absolutely nothing. Just live in the moment, and then crawl into a bed which hugs you like the womb you can’t remember. I wake up every morning refreshed and eager to begin another day. When was the last time anyone could say that?
My coffee is gone, and I just chose a scent from my plethora of incense sticks. It hit the room instantly, transporting me to another world on this temporary plane of existence we call human life. I popped the ‘play’ button on my writing playlist, random selection. The first song? Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin. Very accurate for the mood I’m currently in. I’m sure Spotify’s wonky algorithm will screw it up when it selects the next tune. It always does, yet we all give them ten bucks a month or whatever the subscription fee is now. Is that considered successful? When you don’t know how much you pay for Spotify anymore because it just bills to your credit card? Is this the future I thought we’d be having in 2023? Not at all. Where’s my flying fucking car, assholes? Stop making new iPhones every year and make my flying car!!!
Finally, I have drifted off into deep thought from a long-ago memory. Someone in my group of friends managed to dig an impressively deep hole in the ground (deep enough to stand up in) beneath the cover of a massive weeping willow tree. To boot, they covered it with a hearty piece of camouflaged plywood and propped it up with temporary supports. At any given moment, we could look out and see the front doors of the high school, but no one could see us. If anyone were curious, we could pop the supports and cover fell above our heads instantly. Me and my friends skipped many a day of school at our makeshift cave, talking Nintendo games, boobs we wanted to see, and what we planned to do with our future. I don’t believe any of us predicted where we would be all these years later. I sure as hell never thought I’d be a professional writer. I think I left my Lazer Tag set down there as well.
The kiddo is at school and only has one day left until summer vacation. Those were some interesting days, weren’t they? The last day of school, I mean. You finally got to clean out that locker, toss that rat infested Trapper Keeper which shouldn’t have lasted all year long but, somehow, you made it happen. You said goodbye to many of your friends and that one chick or guy you had a thing for but never had the guts to say anything. Remember, there was no internet or smart phones during my time in school. I’m almost fifty. When school was over for the summer, it was OVER for the summer.
The end of the school year was always a step toward your future that you truly felt. Sure, every single day takes you one more in the direction of the grave, but the last day of school always felt like a time jump. You couldn’t wait to sleep late, ride rollercoasters, or go camping with your friends in the middle of nowhere. There were sunny afternoons at swimming pools with uncontrollable boners from cold water and unexpected breezes aimed at classmates’ bikinis you’d never see beneath. It didn’t matter. You could see enough, and your imagination took care of the rest. The most important part was hiding that impromptu public erection. If you made it back into the water without detection, you won the day. If not, you had no chance of living it down for the rest of the day or possibly the summer. Pun intended.
There’s nothing like the summer breaks you had between the ages of 13 and 15. You weren’t quite old enough to drive, but you thought you knew everything there was to know regardless. Chances are, your favorite music and movies came out during those years, and you watch and listen to them regularly to rekindle a spark from times gone by. In my brain, it will forever be the summer of 1989. No other point in time in my life hit quite like that one. It was the summer of Tim Burton’s Batman with a Prince soundtrack filling the airwaves of our radios. Every night was a weekend. You ate Sonic tots cruising the strip in the passenger side of your older friend’s beat up car waving at girls you knew were entirely out of your league. Heaven isn’t a place. It’s a frame of mind, and most of us have already been there. It’s important to see it as such so we have something to use as a basis of comparison when the terrestrial version of Hell slaps us across the face sometime in our twenties.
Even in our current virtual world, only one of those dozen people or so who made 1989 bearable is still in my life. Death has taken a few, but most have left of their own free will due to ‘adult’ stuff. Political differences and where I’ve chosen to hang my hat repeatedly. We all promised we’d never turn our backs on one another, and we were all a bunch of liars in the making. Life is neither short or long. It just simply ‘is’. It’s a state of mind. My residual self image ,aka how I view myself in dreams, boasts a killer mullet, ripped acid washed blue jeans, and a Van Halen t shirt. Any glance in the mirror only reveals the existance of time travel, and it’s not a welcomed advancement for society. It’s always headed in the wrong direction, and the transmission broke decades ago. There’s no going back, but perhaps your younger self subliminally forwards love to your waiting brain at your current age. Your teenage self would never let your present mindset suffer endlessly. Why do we insist on starving that kid from days gone by? Show some goddamn courtesy, people. Think upon those memories with smiles rather than regret. 1989 was yours and it’s probably hiding in a box you’ve overlooked in your garage somewhere between Christmas decorations and the shit your ex-spouse forgot when they left. Just smile. Smile at it all. It created you, and it can kill you just as easily.
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