Mea Culpa

I am relatively honest and looking in the mirror I have to admit one thing.

I am a fuck-up.

I even have a letter dated 1/2/80 from Lawrence Woodward, the CIA's director of Employment, who wrote,”….no vacancy has been found for someone with your academic background and experience.” which was mostly smoking pot and hanging out at gay bars hunting for fag hags.

No wonder those black shoe spooks could’t find Osama Bin Ladin with billions to spend on satellites, spies, and snitches . They’re all squares, yet I survived the shame of a nation’s rejection. And also many more failures, most recently not writing mangozeen for a while. I could blame writer’s block, which usually arises like a bad case of herpes, whenever my bank account sinks below 4-figures in US Dollars, however the latest dearth of inspiration was derived from something other than having a empty bank account.

Back in 2008 I treated another financial disaster with a wine binge. Beer-vodka-gin too.

Pattaya. Booze. Women.

Actually I excluded the latter from the equation.

Pattaya and booze.

Keep it simple stupid.

My wife was out of town. I felt lonely. The beers flowed across my lips like the endless source of the Nile. In the morning my hangovers were less than crippling other than I couldn’t write.

Nothing.

Not a postcard.

Barely my name.

And do I expect this to change?

It has before, so bear with me as I right the ship out of the water. We are back under sail and ready to proceed toward the future.

New course.

The battle for freedom.

“Who’s for freedom, who’s for liberty, who’s for going home?” Anyone who can identify the speaker of this quote gets a free Ramones tee-shirt.

We carry all sizes