top of page

MB Journal Entries: #5 October 26th - October 28th 2013 My First Meeting


I went for a 2 1/2 mile run last night and was sweating more than John Belushi stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert. When I staggered back to my place, a dear friend was waiting there in his car; so I decided to go to my first Meeting with him in the town of Lahaina. I met some interesting people who I was really able to relate with on a personal level as I heard them tell their stories.

Before the meeting began, people wrote some fucking question on a piece of paper, and then threw them all in an old, wrinkled hat. Then, the guy leading the meeting walked around with the hat, and we all picked a question out at random. I opened up the small, folded piece of paper and my question read, "would drinking Kombucha be considered relapse?" I thought to myself, "what the hell is Kombucha?" Fuck it, I went with it. "Hi, my name is Michael and alcohol has caused a great deal of problems for me in the past." Truth is, I'm still too damn stubborn to admit I'm an alcoholic because I'm confused on whether or not I want to quit drinking, and whether or not alcohol would even be considered a problem for me right now. So right away I ask, "What the hell is Kombucha?" and everyone starts laughing. I turn more red than a baboon's ass. Then I say, "Well okay. I don't know what the heck it is, but if someone is afraid of drinking it, then it probably has some form of alcohol in it, so then just don't drink the shit period."

Later on this guy told a story about how he was able to quit on his own for a year at a time. He would smoke a lot of pot, but as time went on, he figured he could have a beer. One beer, and then BOOM! He woke up and realized he crashed his car. He finally realized he needed help and that he had a problem. When these words hit me, I finally had an epiphany: I realized that alcohol has led to practically every single mistake I have made in the past 6 years and its about damn time I realize it.


I am alone. A frail pebble of a stone toppling down a cliff towards despair. Trying to find the light in what is right; peering through the dreaded vines which cover the darkness that lingers deep within the moments of time.

Pale white, full moon floating behind naked trees on a cold, crisp, gloomy night in the meadows of a small town--15 minutes from the city. Gray clouds soaring by the moon and springing life to the creatures, who linger within the deep, darkness of the trees. The dire smell from the icy air pushes into my lungs and sends a trickling chill down my spine. I am running, racing, and dodging for my life! And to think two years ago, I would have never predicted this.

You know what? I am done felling sorry for myself and all of the things that shoulda, coulda, woulda happened. Fuck it bruh. I'm in Maui, doing good things, and a living a more healthy lifestyle than I have ever lived before. I can't wait to start stacking cash and go swimming in the beautiful, blue Ocean. My glass is full, overflowing on the sides, and nothing can break these vibes.


I am sitting on the beach by Black Rock and Whalers Village all alone. I have been sober on my own for 2 weeks now, and I can say, I have never been so bored. I mean don't get me wrong, I am still quite excellent, if not better, at tactfully speaking to strangers, but I have no drive--no inner fire, a lack thereof motivation to speak to and make friends with random passerby's. It feels weird. I am mentally lost. I know my family would be proud, especially my father, for not drinking to an extent, but I am definitely not proud of myself what has pert-rued to be somewhat of a boring grandpa. Like fuck. I haven't had a beer in 2 weeks, haven't smoked a cig in 10 1/2 days, I haven't smoked pot in 3 months, and I haven't had any type of sexual encounter / pleasure in the past 3 weeks. But still, I continue to go on, day by day, with a calm demeanor and an empty lamp of fire, which would have fed my desire to feel--I am empty and a lone. A glacier in the middle Atlantic on a dark, winter night begging for the sun to come out.

I've been thinking a great deal about heading to this Buddhist Temple in Lahaina as a means to steer closer to my own spiritual faith and the spiritual existence of every living thing on this Earth--and the energy that keeps all alive and moving as one.


Ubiquitous: Existing or being everywhere, or in all places at the same time.

Somnambulism: Sleep Walking.

Ambivalence: Uncertainty or fluctuation, especially when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things.

Arduous: 1. Requiring great exertion; laborious; difficult. 2. Requiring or using much energy and vigor; strenuous. 3. Hard to climb; steep. 4. Hard to endure; full of hardships; severe ex: An arduous Winter.

***So I decided to do something different; write down 4 new vocab words before I write something new each day. It reminds myself of the word, manifesto, a document for change. This is my manifesto: after telling my friend, Katie, about the script I want to write, she made a sudden inquiry regarding the characters. She stated, "there is a little bit of you in each and every character."

When one talks about writing, it comes down to one phrase, the sky is the limit! I can write about anything, anywhere, at any time, real or fake--anything that my imagination can conjure up. Whether or not its an audacious couple with an arduous task at hand, or a group of hippies smoking cannabis in a van dealing with somnambulism and debating the ubiquitous nature of their thoughts. Here's the problem though, and I'm going to state it as it is: our mind has a Universe of its own. And this Universe has a tendency to launch curve balls at us now and then. Correction--all the fucking time. And when these curve balls hit, they hit hard and they demolish our thoughts; leave us stranded in the desert in search of water; stuck on a sail boat in the middle of the Ocean in search of land, of life. A curve ball I like to call, Writers Block.

One way to overcome the ye olde problem of Writers Block comes down to the advice of one man, Samuel Clemens, a.k.a. Mark Twain, who stated, "Don't think, just write." Write every single day. And if you have nothing to write about, then just write I have nothing to write about 150 times. Eventually something will come out, and then you will be set to embark on the endless journey of words--allowing the Universe of your mind to spill onto the paper and flood our reality with the endless ideas and possibilities of magical opportunity.

91 views0 comments


Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page