“Ludicrous” is Just a Scare Word. (I’m Over My Head, But It Sure Feels Nice.)

But, I am having THAT TIME OF MY LIFE!

My life has taken a turn toward the bizarre.

Recent memory (of which I have not so much)

Recent memory teaches me my life may be falling apart.

But then…

I look at my prolific writing of late.

And I smile a ‘knowing‘ smile while regarding my folly.

I love my LIFE.

Will never give it up without kicking and screaming.

I love my life.

I am having FUN!

I want for NOTHING.

I am living the DREAM!

Below please discover some of the silliness I have recently posted on Face Book.

(If I cannot laugh at me…. Well, what’s the point?)

I laugh at me constantly.

Incessantly.

*****

Still Moving IN.  

Should have taken half a day.

Taken almost three months now and still counting.

I am savoring it.

To be fair: There were some ‘detours’ along my way.

Denton, UBH comes immediately to mind…

Happy Saturday Y’all

***

As well-documented:

My life is an open book.

I hold back nothing. Not sure why. I guess I am just past the point of giving a shit.

***

This is ‘Social Media’ I really do not know most of y’all, nor would care to. I ‘write’ stuff that is in my head—a scary place–for certain.

However, I love to write. Writing allows me to get deep down–explore what is going on in my head–what I am FEELING. It is usually lame, but….

I do try to add added value to my posts. Generally in the form of some esoteric video or song. (And, more often than not, an oldie)

Just to make your trip not worthless.

***

In my ‘Inbox’ This Afternoon:

From: Indeed

To: Marcom

Job Alert!

‘Seeking Tinker, Tailor, Sailor, Spy’

Job Description: Sit in Shit-Hole Hotel Room. Write Stupid Shit All Day (and Night)

Spend way too much time on Social Media.

Watch U.S. of A. going to hell in a hand-basket (Preferably On CNN, but FOX News will do as well)

Requirements:

Applicant will be Sixty-Plus White Male.

Juicer

No self-esteem required.

Must type 40 WPM

(Grammar is important. Spelling not so much)

Must drink 45 Ounces per hour.

Pay: ‘It won’t cost you a dime. Just send One Dollar, Postal Money Order along with your application.’

“Shit! Put me in Coach!”

Applied for Job.

Fingers Crossed.

***

I am struggling with this whole sobriety thing.

Not sure if it is going to work for me.

I do not want to go back to THAT PLACE

But, I may be Over My Head on this one.

I try to eat.

I try to sleep.

I try to keep up

With current events.

I try to watch old movies.

Nothing works.

In short:

“I am properly fucked.”

***

So… I wake up and it’s sixty-one degrees in my ‘house’ right now.

(How do I know this? Because I have a fucking thermometer—that’s how!)

I turn my HVAC to heat and guess what?

The fucking smoke detector alarm (conveniently placed right over my HVAC unit) goes the fuck off, thus awakening both my neighbors and my ire!

What kind of idiot did this? Who engineered this?

I pulled the battery out of the damn smoke detector.

Yeah, I like to live on the edge.

***

This Shit Just Keeps Writing Itself:

Dear

Finney Foods

I know you are just trying to scare up customers.

However, I am a writer and I am just trying to scare up readers.

I seriously doubt y’all are interested in my writing.

I only have some few, special friends.

Friends who read my shit.

I am fairly certain I cannot include you in this group.

Therefore, If you are not interested in my HG Stories, I will de-friend you. Comments are your ticket to paradise.

You have thirty minutes.

Clock ticking.

Post Haste.

***************

 

There is a very narrow window in my world.

Let us call it the “Sobriety Window.”

For lack of a term.

Sometimes, I thrust me out of that window.

Sometimes I just ignore it

Sometimes, I actually make it outside.

Into the Real World.

Then I panic!

Try to get back in.

The Window has already shut tight behind me.

I cannot get back in.

But eventually, I do.

Get back in.

And the whole shit – show begins anew.

(There is a serious post here, fixing to happen.

But not tonight— this one Will require some sobriety to write.)

And that narrow window opportunity….

******************

This is RAW!

Un-Thoughtful.

Un-Examined.

Un-Polite.

Un-EDITED

I may come back and edit later 

(but probably not)

I am using my ‘Shotgun’ approach to writing these daze:

“Just Shoot! See if you can HIT anything.”

“Look at me! I can… BE…. Center Field!”

Cabin Fever–UBH–On Quietus.

I think I gots ‘Cabin Fever.’

“This mornin,’  I shot six holes in my freezer; I think I got cabin fever. Somebody sound the alarm!”

Visualize me trying to explain all the nuance of this to Commerce’s Finest…. 

“Well, you see, Officer… there was this woman… And ReHab, and… That Fridge… was Antifa…”

“Assume the position Sir.”

“Okay.”

This is my problem.

I need a road trip…

Somewhere other than the Beer Store,

Or Wal-Mart.

I need to get out of this self-imposed prison.

It is driving me insane. (And trust me on this: I am capable of driving myself)

But this is a different animal.

Not that I need human interaction.

Just some fresh air.

That is all.

Too much reminisce.

Losing my fucking mind!

I need a ‘Walk-About.’

Road – Trip.

Perhaps to Honey Grove.

Or  Somewhere.

Anywhere but here!

Several miles from here.

Just to breathe.

I need to ‘get over myself.’

“Lance! Take a break Son! Get outta town for a spell! Even if just for an afternoon!”

“I will. Soon as I make bail.”

William Henry

Back in 1974 I found myself at Warrior Stadium, Watching the HG Warriors kick the ever’ loving shit outta those Fannindale (dale?, del?)  Ladonia! I was born in that town, ’57! Guess I can call their football team what-ever-the-fuck I want…  Falcons.

I should have been on the field, but I had opted out my senior year, because I was tired of the whole “Friday Night Lights” shit.

And I was too busy.

Seated on opposite sides of me were Joe Whitley (Who was a math teacher and a rancher and father of my girlfriend, and also my employer) and William Henry—Local Big Boy and World – Famous Drunk.

We were seated near the top of the stadium, nearly to the “Press Box.”

William Henry looked behind and spied something that interested him.

Behind the stands was the ‘Practice Field’ of the Famed Honey Grove Warriors.

There was a ‘Blaster Machine’ parked there.

Joe and I watched William Henry navigate down the stands and make his way toward same.

We watched with great curiosity as William Henry studied this machine.

He backed up ‘bout fifty foot and charged head-long into it.

Boom!

It slid back ‘bout ten feet.

He shook his head.

Went back another fifty foot.

Charged again.

Hit it full force.

Boom!

Slid back another ten foot.

William Henry in earnest now hit it with all his might (and his head)

Boom!

Still did not get through.

(Blaster Machines are a one – way street)

Joe and I watched him navigate his way back up to our seat.

He sat down, and with blood running into his eyes, said,

“Ya know, you gotta be one tough sumbitch to play football!”

True Story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_3yfyhmNc8

Escape From Memphis–Chapter The End: “You Shoulda Planned Ahead”

This is the end of my “Escape From Memphis” Saga.

I am done.

Done with it.

Finished.

Caput

I am managing my disease.

Poorly.

But, I am still breathing.

Ran outta booze at zero-four this morning.

I shoulda planned ahead.

Today was Sunday.

No relief until Noon.

(Texas!)

What to do?

Pace back and forth in my little Habi-Trail.

Like some kind of fucking Hamster.

Did that.

Shook until five minutes before noon.

Drove to the beer store.

Got my meds.

All is good now.

Daniel and Lance and The Lion’s Den

I am living in The Lion’s Den.
(Not unlike Daniel)
Commerce, America.
Yeah, I just doxx’d myself.
Do not care.
Anyone got any ‘issues’ with me,
Bring it!
I ain’t scared.
I ain’t feeble.
I am still strong (with drink)
And stank
Don’t believe me?
Just ask Shawn.

Okay
That out of the way.

Washing the dishes…

This Lion’s Den is just an old renovated Hotel from the days when People actually had money and came to Commerce to see Jane or Johnny graduate from ETSU.
Ancient history.

Now it is just a trailer park with nothing with wheels.

Lots of White Trash here.

I fit right in.

It is cheap.
Centrally located.
Comfy.
And most important,
Outside the jurisdiction of the Commerce City Police.
Yeah.
This is important to me.
There are some minor inconveniences:
No kitchen
No laundry
No real bathroom.
But!
But!
But!
No one fucks with me.
I approach life with that
“Lazy-Fair” philosophy
Just leave me the fuck alone.
Do that and we will not have any issues.
Got that?
Groovy.
Cheers.
Thank You.
Drive Through
Bye

(And mucho amore to anyone who comments on this post—sometimes I feel lonely)