2012 in Socially Constructed Reality.

Well, on 1/11/12 I made it to a year of sobriety. I'm sitting here watching the Denver Broncos get slaughtered in the playoffs by the New England Patriots. It's not looking good. It's a blood bath. But i'm on the bus. No cocktails, no weed, no powdered inhalants up my nose. Not much to report, graduate school, secret meetings, studying, heartless romance, same old, same old. The Sober Gonzo has been preaching about once a month. That's always interesting. Oh, that's a good idea. Maybe I'll post the most recent sermon. Anyways. Doesn't look good for Tim Tebow and the Broncos tonight. Not looking good at all. But I'm going to sleep sober tonight. One day at a time. That's all it takes. One day at a time.

Still Here

Haven't given up yet. Last year about this time, I jumped off the wagon again, after I had a gym bag, a back-pack, and a couple of full journals stolen, car window smashed through in San Francisco. It was an Olympics bag from the 1980's. A few days before it happened I had a dream that there was a crackhead wearing that bag, who had a couple of my journals.  I had the dream written down, on the first page of a journal I was writing in, sitting in a restaurant in downtown SF, while my car was getting broken into a few blocks away. They stole one or two full journals, full of poetry, and the first few pages of The Father of Lies. They also got some gym clothes and an older pair of running shoes, and a bunch of theological books. Probably very little that a crack smoker was looking for. The glove compartment was unlocked. They left the ipod in it. There was also a camera and a hard drive with resale value, sitting under the Olympics bag, that the thief overlooked in the darkness and their hurry. Oops. Maybe they will finish my book for me.

A few days later I started getting drunk again, smoking weed and drinking wine. A month or so later I tried smoking crack. I bought it from a man in downtown San Francisco, but he wasn't wearing my bag. And the high was no good anyhow. I'm glad about that.

If I keep taking it one day at a time I will have 11 months sober on the 11th day of the 12th month of the 11th year of the 21st century; but numbers are just about as over-rated as crack.

Nonetheless, I think I'll just stay on track, play it safe, stay off the crack, and leave the past where it is.

Return to Aspen

The sober gonzo has returned
To his home
Full of drugs and beauty
Has left the drugs behind
Heading to the Woody Creek tavern
To drink iced tea
Up on the sunny mountainside now
And walking down
Into the future
After taking the ultimate drug
Life
Don't want to disturb it
With any silly substance
That I might have to come down from

The best part about sobriety is that you never come down. The worst part about sobriety is that you never come down.

Riding the Sharp Edge of Insanity

WEEHAA!!

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, cawbirds, eagles, and squirrals, listen to the madman, who sits atop the dusty nest of twigs. The hardest part of madness is keeping the balance of its beauty; and doing this without the substances that you used for years to balance it all out, but which finally led you to completely flip out. Yes old friends, the Sober Gonzo has not yet lost the game. I'm still on board the ship, still dry up here on the sunny deck, but its foggy here in Berkeley, as I torture myself in the theological world of faith based hermeneutical readings. Take it one day at a time. That's what they say. And it's all I can do. Lighten the old boy up, and chill him out. California, surrounded by crazies. Just like me. Aren't we all reflections of each other when the chips fall, humanoids? As our DNA reproduces itself on down the line, running around the earth skin, cruising on up that freeway out of Africa? Yes, old friends, we're all going somewhere. Where are we going?

Take er easy,

Goose Wrangler

I fought the claw and the claw won.

Oh damn. Team, the dawn is hours away, and there is no cocaine on the table, it's another sober day. What to do? Pray? Ask for help? Both of those are probably good options. Insanity is such a pain in the ass. I have gotten sober so many times over the years, and I have gotten drunk so many times over the years when I started listening to the argument in my brain between the asshole who says "let's get drunk," and the still small voice that says "hang in there, don't pick up." When I listen to this conversation, the problem is that the still small voice gets quieter and quieter, and the drug addict, alcoholic, mind just gets louder and louder.

Eventually, my brain and body is completely hijacked by this beast, and doing lines, taking bong rips, and drinking vigorously, seems like the only answer. Then it's off to the races. I don't really want this to happen again. I'm not sure if it was the premature trip to rehab at the age of 16, having the 12 steps crammed down my throat along with a thorough washing of my brain, but somewhere after the third relapse and the 2nd or third year of my 3rd return to drinking, I began to hear an enthusiastic voice in my head that said "quit getting fucked up all the time!" It was really quite frustrating.

Anyways, I started trying to get sober again in 2008 after a good 4 year run on wine and herbs and other sundry goods. So here I am again, and where did that divine voice of my using go, that told me to sober up? Now that I'm sober again for a while, I hear this voice that tells me to get fucked up! Insanity, my friends.

It's 1:07 AM now, so I made it another day sober, in 9 days it will have been 7 months since my last inebriation. Time to go to sleep. Fuck it. Put the plug in the jug. The road less traveled. Where will it lead? Like I said, sobriety is the hardest drug I've ever done. Searching for the middle way, walking along a very sharp blade, trying not to fall off either side, or at least not snort any of those tempting powders up my nose.

Why does cable TV have to show such rampant drug use all the time? If it's not booze it's one damn show after another of people addicted to drugs, getting high in jail, getting busted with drugs, getting busted trying to smuggle drugs. Is it supposed to be a deterrent? Is this supposed to make people not want to get high? It doesn't have that affect on me. Watching Anthony Bourdain makes me want to get drunk; and the Discovery Channel should be called the discover drugs channel, they have more cocaine than the Sinaloa cartel. Anyways, there is going to be some new reality show called Weed Wars, I doubt that it's going to help with my cravings. Being a junkie is a real pain in the ass. It distracts a wrangler from his mission to save the world, and that can be frustrating, and that in turn leads to more cravings. It's a vicious cycle. Aloha. Good night.

The Old Craw

Well team,
The Goose Wrangler is home. The mother has left the material realm. She left her body. There was life in it, open eyes, then there was nothing. She faded away. There was only flesh. So we're still taking one day at a time. I spent a couple in Denver. At the airport I saw a bumper sticker that said Duck Commander, with a nice little picture of a duck in flight. My friend Chris said he knew of Duck Commander. He's a Christian Pastor who travels and speaks at Churches I gather. He is a relative maybe. Someday will we join forces? Goose Wrangler and Duck Commander take wing! We just don't know team. But drinking and drugs are not the answer to my problems today. Life in the present moment, that is the goal to be attained. Finding the NOW. That space right between two hands clapping. NOW. Right there. If I can just get right in there. The whole darn show is unfolding just so. Aloha to the crabapples, the flowers, the darkness, and the rainbows. AHO! the ghost says from the shadows. The dream continues.