The Epic Legends – Atlanta – Epilogue

The story’s been told, the first legend put to print.

Here’s what happened after.

Me and the girl in the next seat never really happened as a couple.  Our relationship began and ended on that bus.  Still, its brevity and its purity changed my whole perspective on life and love.  I learned that hardship usually has a reward, even if the only reward is coming out of it stronger.  I learned how to talk to women.  I learned I’m a good storyteller.  I learned I wasn’t the hideous unlovable monster I’d tend to see in the mirror.  Not a month later, another legend would begin.  That story’s coming up one day, too.

Tony, who I’d known since I was a child fulfilled his childhood dream and became a firefighter.  It was the only job he ever wanted and he got it, and he’s damn good at it.  Tony’s a good guy.

Colin, the vile womanizer, happened to have a girlfriend waiting back in Northern Virginia who was none too pleased about what went on in Atlanta and on that bus.  Karma’s a bitch, and so’s his girlfriend when cheated on.  I have, to this day, not seen a more thorough ass-whooping of any man by any woman, or man for that matter.

Sergio graduated high school that year.  Turns out he had a twin brother.  I was mortified.  He was also 21 years old.

As for me, I went on to perform my first spoken word routine a few days after my return, emboldened by my newly-discovered talent.  For one class period, with the permission of the involved teachers I stood before the gathered students, many of them far better friends (and my future first-girlfriend among them) who laughed raucously, applauded, and set me on my course in life, to become a writer.  I completed my first screenplay two years later.

The events of that trip didn’t make me who I am, but their contribution was great.  Like anyone, I’m a sum of my experiences.  The next Epic Legend, “Busch Gardens I” takes place in the year 2000, and is not only my first encounter with a dread roller coaster, but the first major step on my journey to the great fleeting now.

Stay tuned.


Conundrumn of a Twenty Year Old and Other Related Musings

I’ve recently realized that I am at the absolute worst possible year in regards to expanding my social horizons, pursuing relationships with women, and the like.

Twenty years old.

There’s no longer the forced-socialization of public school.  The old peer groups have dissolved, most have moved away, and many of the women (and men, but I’m not exactly interested in having lots and lots of sex with them) are psychotic enough to get married.  I’ll get back to that particular  issue later.

The people I’m most likely to connect with, intelligent urbanites who may or may not be attending college, are in short supply.  They’re in especially short supply as far as I’m concerned because my age has another critical limit to it.

Alcohol. Continue reading

The Hurricane in my Head

And on the seventh day, Andrew did look down upon his computers, and said that they were “good enough.”

Today is my day of rest.  I find myself not resting, though, so much as brooding.  Brooding is a common activity of late.  The fates long ago decreed that everything shitty that ever happens to me must happen to me between the months of October and March, with the rest of the year serving as reprieve from the torrential downpour of extreme humanity that characterizes this time.

Think about it, the happiest day for most people in this time period involves one of three things, and in some cases all of them combined.  One, eating massive amounts of unhealthy food.  Two, drinking massive amounts of wines and various hard liquors.  Three, commemoration of the birth of a man who was ultimately beaten, whipped, stabbed, and crucified because he thought everyone should live in peace and harmony with each other.

Fun times.

For me, the misery started at the tender age of seven, my parents having decided to announce to me their intentions of divorce on New Year’s Day, as I woke up.  Now, myself having been dumped unceremoniously for a woman before I feel a certain degree of retroactive sympathy for my father.  Still, had I been custodian of a podling at the time of my interpersonal detonation, I’d have waited to deliver the news.

I’ve had family members die, been hospitalized, and even arrested (twice!) during this time period.  Nothing too bad has happened this time out.

So now I’m some form of quantum cliche, with infinite layers of suck folding over each other into nothingness.  The hermit, the manchild, the tortured artist, the hopeless romantic, these are my faces, all of them trite and none of them true.

I sit at the keyboard, the hurricane in my head reels with ideas and emotions, a category five of intellect.  Powerful, but raw, uncontrollable, and destructive.  To take the metaphor to its extreme, Katrina’s about to break the levee holding back Lake Sanity.

“I gotta get out of this place.”

“I gotta go do something”

“I gotta find a woman”

Right now, I just gotta survive.