Benjamin DeHaven's Blog, page 30
February 5, 2014
February 4, 2014
A Hundred Pounds of Clay
A saying as a child that always prompted a giggle. – “Call me anything, but don’t call me late for dinner.”
The morning started in a familiar fashion–struggling through the CPAP machine wrapped tightly around my neck from rolling in circles all night as the Sodium Oxibate chased Morpheus through the back alleys of my dreams. Carradine would be proud. (Insert a Tag-IDK?)#Carradine
Awakened abruptly by the handful pills dispensing magic in my soul. Somehow I always managed to swallow all nine off my bedside table. A glorious Halloween bag of success filled colors and shapes prescribed to cure my hypertension, high blood pressure, hypopituitarism, and narcolepsy. I always accomplished this snake oil task between the first alarm, which I snoozed through, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke and puppy dander that now filled my mask from the upstairs level of my aging parents Town Home, where I often found myself in the winter.
I pushed my fears aside, cracked another Adderall in half and began about the morning ritual of testosterone injections, vitamins, compulsive cleaning and a sick stomach. Ahh-yes-pills need food. No… I, thank you—my prescious body for keeping me healthy. Don’t let them call me late for dinner. Don’t haunt me throughout the day.
I’m sorry America! I was the first Outsourcing conglomerate. My body is too expensive, lazy, worn out, or maybe too efficient in its quest for gross margin to produce anything of value in itself. And for over 20 years I have outsourced almost all its essential functions in a mixed argument of “they’re taking our jobs-and no I will not pick up that elephant shit for any amount of money!”
The situps, the situps, I have to do the sit ups. But why? I am constantly concerned I might be in a situation where a beautiful Italian traffic cop asks me to remove my shirt and retrieve a child’s toy from the Trevi fountain, and being a brand whore I refuse to go in with my “PINK” dress shirt. But alas-its too late for the exercise. The speed is kicking in. I use my pork filled Kielbasa sausage fingers to shove my hairy old man belly past the European sized Label jeans. The computer is running too slow and my mind is racing. Next…….
February 3, 2014
Michael Enzo
Michael Enzo has ghost written over 108 self-help books (although only 54 can be directly attributed) for movie stars, politicians, and business leaders. You’ve never heard of him. He wrote these books while sustaining crushing addictions and being hunted by organized crime. If you have touched a self-help book, sales manual, diet book, or attended a motivational seminar he has impacted your life. If you knew the disaster known to his friends as Enzo, you would question his knowledge and how he helped anyone. In his personal calamity he’s explored the deeper meaning of where we fit in this crazy place called the world. But will he ever come out of the darkness?
The books published under his own name never gained him literary praise. Excerpts from some of these works can still be found. His struggle to find himself and the meaning for his existence was explored in his book, The Rose Colored Glass is Smeared, (Right Side Publish. 1998.) He hoped the release of his second novel, Dealing with Your Parents Past First, (Monaco Press, 1999) would gain some attention, but it was a commercial nightmare and almost bankrupted his cousin who published it. He’s destroyed almost everything he’s touched and seems to have a general dislike for people. Strangely though, readers who claim to have been helped by him, continue to follow his advice. I personally hope he will help others learn to love again, even if they never really knew who he was.
February 2, 2014
“The two basic …
“The two basic stories of all times are Cinderella and Jack the Giant Killer—-the charm of women and the courage of men.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
