**

You Guys and Gals rock my fucking WORLD! Thank you all. I love you.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 5:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I've been doing a lot of thinking in the past couple of weeks. A very good friend and a very smart woman talked to me about my life today like no one else ever has and she made a lot of sense. I admire her and respect her so much ya'll. She is smart, independent and probably the strongest woman I know. It's not easy telling a friend how fucked up he is and it's even harder to do it compassionately and honestly. But that's the kind of woman she is, thank the Goddess.
Midnight tonight starts my third day of sobriety. Big fucking deal you say? Well fuck you! It is for me and it's something I have to do. Can you tell I'm a little on edge? I'm still a little shaky but one day at a time, a little group therapy and I can make it work. I just have to continue to want to as bad as I do now.
There are other changes coming too. I have decided (or rather agreed with her honest assessment of me, the bitch (just kidding hon)) that I am not someone I would be proud to know. I have not been a very good friend to her either. Truthfully? I'm surprised she is still hanging around. I doubt I would have had her patience with me. And therin lies the rub. I have run out of patience with myself. I am not deserving of her continued friendship but ask her to hang in for just a while longer. Actions, she says, not words, but actions, is the way to get it done. That scares the fuck out of me ya'll cuz I have been long on words and feelings and short on actions most of my life.
I am in uncharted water and really need that quiet time I talked about below to hear what my inner voice tells me I need to do. But I am going to do it if it kills me. I'll let you know more as the days progress. I just want to publicly thank her for not putting up with my shit and for being there for me everytime I've needed her. Thanks doll. I'm working on it. One day at a time ... one day at a time.

Oh yeah .... and Happy HNT

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)

I have read a few blogs lately that talked about the joys of camping and fishing. One of the things I loved, Loved, LOVED about growing up in the country was the ability, when my mind got restless or too busy, or the hectic pace of life got to be too much to handle, to grab my shotgun and hunting vest and hit the woods. Sometimes I actually hunted. Squirrel and rabbits mostly. Or I could grab a six-pack and my fishing rod, throw the 25 horse motor in the back of the truck and hit the lake for the day. I always found those times alone with nature invigorating and refreshing. I didn't have to kill or catch anything. That wasn't the point. The point was getting somewhere quiet where I could hear myself think. Somewhere along the line, I got to busy to do those things. Life gets in the way sometimes. There is work, school, the responsibilities that come along with raising a family ... all kinds of excuses for not doing what needs to be done.
Blogging, while a therapeutic outlet, is just one more thing that I use as an excuse. I plug my laptop up at work and am IMing or checking mail or reading blogs all day. As soon as I get home, it's plugged in and I'm right back at it until midnight most nights. You guys know I have had some problems. One of them stems from an addictive personality. The funny thing about an addiction ... booze, drugs, sex, blogging, whatever ... it has a way of sneaking up on you and ruining everything good that you hold dear in your life. My wife and I are divorcing after 21 years of marriage. Suffice it to say that I am the root of that little problem. I am burning bridges all over the place and can't stand it anymore. I'm so fucking tired ya'll! Tired of putting on the fake smile when I want to put my fist through a wall, tired of seeing everything I touch turn to a giant turd in my hand, tired of hurting people I love. I'm lost and don't have a map to help me find my way out. I feel like I'm going stark raving nuts.
I've been thinking a lot about the woods lately. How peaceful and quiet they are and how I could really feel that quiet peacefullness infusing my soul. I miss that sooo fucking bad.
So I think it's time for Tommy to grab the pole and pup tent and spend a few days with himself, communing with nature. Leave the computer, work, family, cell phone and everything else behind and see if I can't find out who the fuck I am. Cuz truthfully? I thought I had it together but sometimes it feels like I'm on a collapsing bridge and I'm barely able to stay ahead of the falling planks. I don't know me anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did. Maybe it's also time to stop trying to handle this shit by myself, put my pride in my pocket and talk to someone, a professional, about this cancer that's eating me up inside.
I don't want to put ya'll through this wishy-washy bullshit anymore. I just need to get away. Pathetic, huh? Thanks for being there all those times. I love ya'll. To those of you I hurt? Mommy Gunn, my boys and someone else. How can I say I'm sorry enough. I can't, because you wouldn't believe me anyway. And that is the fucking knife that cuts a little bit more of my heart out everytime I think about it.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 3:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Who said it's a dog's life? Hope ya'll's day is going well!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Sometimes you're the spider and sometimes you are the bug. Hope you get to be the spider this week ya'll!

And just because I'm in this kinda mood, I'll share with you my favorite song. It's "Bring on the Rain'" by Jo Dee Messina and Tim McGraw. I heard it again yesterday and it sent chills up my spine ... and I mean the good kind of chills. Yeah it's kind of a downer but the haunting beauty of the performance can bring me to tears every time.
edit: Now that I think about it, this song really isn't a downer, it's a song of resilience, of strength of character in the face of adversity ... a song of hope. And don't we all need a little hope these days? I know I do.

Another day has almost come and gone
Can’t imagine what else could wrong
Sometimes I’d like to hide away somewhere and lock the door
A single battle lost but not the war

('cause) Tomorrow’s another day
And I am not afraid
So bring on the rain
Tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain.

Finally, so you don't think it's all doom and gloom ... the gratuitous shot which is a lot more representative of my mood today. You see, I have a friend and I thank the Goddess for her everyday. This is how she makes me feel.

Here's to a great week everyone. Can I get an "AMEN!" from the choir? Amen!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 12:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

OK ya'll get out the whips and chains ... I've been a bad blogger buddy and need a good, hard spanking. Go ahead **smack, smack** Thank you ma'am, may I have another? **smack, smack** Ok, thats much better.
I know I haven't been by your blogs and I am kind of ashamed of that.I used to pride myself on getting by every couple of days but lately I just haven't had the desire, interest or energy. I've been throwing myself a big assed pity-party and it's even starting to annoy ME now. So I'm done. Thanks for all your e-mails and comments (those of you I haven't run off anyway.) I may not have answered (**smack, smack**) but I read them all and they helped. Life is looking up, things are getting back to normal and I'm feeling pretty good thankyouverymuch.
Those of you who haven't done so so far, add your name to the notification list in the sidebar and I'll let you know by e-mail whenever I post. My Yahoo Instant Messenger address is also up there to. Holla if you want.
In an unrelated development, I GOT MY E-MAIL FIXED AND CAN NOW E-MAIL FROM HOME! WOOT! Hey, sometimes the little victories are the sweetest!
And now the gratuitous shot ...

Have a great weekend everybody. I'll be around soon ... I promise. Love Ya'll!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

This late breaking news just in to the Tommy News Room!
POLICE ARE WARNING:TO ALL MEN WHO FREQUENT CLUBS, PARTIES AND LOCAL PUBS BE ON ALERT AND STAY CAUTIOUS WHEN OFFERED A DRINK FROM ANY WOMAN.
MANY FEMALES USE A DATE RAPE DRUG ON THE MARKET CALLED "BEER". THE DRUG IS FOUND IN LIQUID FORM AND IS AVAILABLE ANYWHERE. IT COMES IN BOTTLES, CANS, FROM TAPS AND IN LARGE "KEGS". BEER IS USED BY FEMALE SEXUAL PREDATORS AT PARTIES AND BARS TO PERSUADE THEIR MALE VICTIMS TO GO HOME AND HAVE SEX WITH THEM.
A WOMAN NEEDS ONLY TO GET A GUY TO CONSUME A FEW UNITS OF BEER AND THEN SIMPLY ASK HIM HOME FOR NO STRINGS ATTACHED SEX. MEN ARE RENDERED HELPLESS AGAINST THIS APPROACH.
AFTER SEVERAL BEERS, MEN WILL OFTEN SUCCUMB TO THE DESIRES TO PERFORM SEXUAL ACTS ON HORRIFIC LOOKING WOMEN WHOM THEY WOULD NEVER NORMALLY BE ATTRACTED TO. AFTER DRINKING BEER, MEN OFTEN AWAKEN WITH ONLY HAZY MEMORIES OF EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM THE NIGHT BEFORE, OFTEN WITH JUST A VAGUE FEELING THAT "SOMETHING BAD" OCCURRED. AT OTHER TIMES THESE UNFORTUNATE MEN ARE SWINDLED OUT OF THEIR LIFE'S SAVINGS, IN A FAMILIAR SCAM KNOWN AS "A RELATIONSHIP". IN EXTREME CASES, THE FEMALE MAY EVEN BE SHREWD ENOUGH TO ENTRAP THE UNSUSPECTING MALE INTO A LONGER TERM FORM OF SERVITUDE AND PUNISHMENT REFERRED TO AS "MARRIAGE".
MEN ARE MUCH MORE SUSCEPTIBLE TO THIS SCAM AFTER BEER IS ADMINISTERED AND SEX IS OFFERED BY THE PREDATORY FEMALES.
PLEASE!! FORWARD THIS WARNING TO EVERY MALE YOU KNOW. IF YOU FALL VICTIM TO THIS "BEER" SCAM AND THE WOMEN ADMINISTERING IT, THERE ARE MALE SUPPORT GROUPS WHERE YOU CAN DISCUSS THE DETAILS OF YOUR SHOCKING ENCOUNTER WITH SIMILARLY VICTIMIZED MEN. FOR THE SUPPORT GROUP NEAREST YOU, JUST LOOK UP "GOLF COURSES" IN THE PHONE BOOK.
PLEASE FORWARD TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS WHO MIGHT FALL VICTIM TO THIS SCAM.
Consider yourselves duly warned. And now back to your regularly scheduled programming ...

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Every day that passes, my actions are brought home to me like a kick in the guts.
Conversations that once flowed so smoothly and seemed so effortless now seem uncomfortable … stilted.
I cannot penetrate your veil. Your shields are up when we speak, and I don’t blame you for it.
Everything that changed, changed as a direct result of my actions and for that I am truly, truly sorry.
Remember that lunch hour? We talked and talked. Laughter flowed so easily, I thought you would wet your pants. I asked “We really have a good time together, don’t we?” and you said “Yes we do.” Now we hardly speak at all. Where have those times gone? Have they been destroyed, never to be enjoyed or shared again?
Can forgiveness ever be granted? We can’t turn back the clock, but I miss those times … the times we shared before things got out of hand.
I feel so empty without your friendship, alone without your laughter. That empty spot in my heart, my life, grows daily … exponentially.
You will say you are busy, things in your life now prevent you from taking the time to be with me and that is the truth, but I believe there is more than that.
I beg your forgiveness and hope that one day you can grant me that. I would rather had plucked out my own eyes than to have hurt you so, I wish I had.
If this is the way things are destined to be, I would rather have never met you, but I did and I can‘t turn that back either.
I am asking you not to give up on me … to hang in and let me prove that I understand what I have done and allow me to make it up to you. All I ask you for is a second chance.
Believe me, the lesson has been learned and will NEVER be repeated. Look in your heart and tell me what you see. If there is no chance of forgiveness, I will accept it even though it rends my heart to pieces. I just want to know. Talk to me.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 7:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

A child feels a stirring,
emotions rush to the surface.
Fire soon courses through his veins,
beauty is everywhere.
It has always surrounded him but, his mind was
blinded to the joy of the softer sex.
That day he awakes and sees clearly,
for perhaps the first time,
the joys that await him.

Adolescence passes, manhood arrives.
Those feelings fall to the side
replaced by responsibilities, children, a partner
life continues as the beast hibernates
lulled by the pace of life.
The beast sleeps peacefully
for the most part.
Tossing fitfully, turning dreaming and snorting occasionally
but his repose continues.

Then one day, the boy turned man
becomes a boy again. Fire sears his heart once more.
The beast wakens after feeling the heat of passion
not experienced in years, almost foreign.
The man, realizing the beast is starving, attempts to satisfy that hunger
The beast, grizzled, bearded, nails grown long
takes over. He is alive and it is good!
The beast has grown impatient, only thinking of self
and in so doing, claws cut, his beard wraps and clings tightly. Suffocating

Confusion, pain, given and recieved,
the beast is uncontrollable, thinking only of self.
The man cries out "NO!"
but too late. Damage is done, unforgivable pain is meted out.
The man battles the beast and chains him
but those wounds still bleed and hearts break.
Regrets are felt, forgiveness is sought but too late, he fears
The beast is finally controlled and the man belatedly, sorrowfully
Awakens

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 12:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

We spent the early part of my life traveling the world. By the time I hit high school, I had lived in Germany, Tiawan, New York, Alabama and several places in Texas. It was exciting in a way but I wonder if he had not been a military man and we had lived in the same place all our lives if things would have been different. I doubt it because I would have been the same person and even on different paths, sometimes you end up at the same place.
Don't get me wrong. To this point there was no abuse or anything (not implying there ever really was but I'll explain that in a few.) He signed me up for basketball, baseball, football, attended the games and tried to teach me the skills to get better. We went to summer activities every year. He took us camping, fishing, taught me how to shoot a gun, took us out and spent all kind of time with us. He tried to instill in me his sense of adventure and encouraged me to read his favorite books ... "Call of the Wild" by Jack London, Rudyark Kipling, western adventures ... it's because of him I have this disease called compulsive reading and I thank him for infecting me.
We weren't rich but we never lacked for anything. We had one of the first color TVs, 1,000-pound microwave ovens and even a VCR with a remote ... okay, it was attached by a cord, but it had a remote. He made us the coolest bikes on the post. MADE them! I had this bad-assed chopper that he welded together for me and rode that bike all over hell and creation, flag flapping from the sissy bar and cards in the spokes. Man, I was hell on wheels! He also taught us how to maintain those bikes. It was great! He did those things, I think becuase of the way he grew up.
He was a mechanic from way back. His dad owned a garage in a small town in east Texas and dad had to quit school after his mom died to help out in the garage. They never had a lot. His dad eventually had to give up the garage and go to work at a factory. When the Army gave him his chance to see the world and escape, he grabbed it with gusto!
He had always wanted to visit the Final Frontier and in 1976 we moved to Fort Richardson Alaska. I say moved ... shit! He bought a 26-foot motor home and we drove from Fort Hood Texas, up the Al-Can highway and to the site of his biggest dissapointment. We made many side trips and saw many of the things America and Cananda had to offer. Things he had dreamed about seeing all his life. But Alaska ...
I really went bat shit nuts in Alaska. I still smoked and by then was drinking too. The bowling alley served canned beer in a coke machine. I think that's where my love of bowling started come to think of it! Hmmmmm. but I digress. My first day of school, I got in with a crowd that smoked pot. From that day on, I was out of control. I skipped school, ran away constantly when I didn't get my way or felt I had been slighted ... and got my ass beat frequently.
When I couldn't get drugs or just needed a quick change, I used to huff gas. I was huffing in the basement one day from our boat gas tank and passed out over it. I pulled it on top of me when I fell. Gas spilled everywhere. I knew I was in trouble when I woke up, so I got towels and sopped up all the puddles, got every scented candle I could find and brought them down into the basement. I lit them all to get the gas smell out of the house. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, huh? He came home from work and found me passed out ... again ... over the tank, gas everywhere. Hey, I had a few minutes after the clean up and figured (in my stoned to the gills state) "What the hell? Just a few more hits ..." He took care of the candles stopped the house from blowing up at about the same time I woke up came to. He chased me out the door, around the neighborhood parking lot and finally up to my brother's room where he beat the fuck out of me. Me on the bed, his knees pinning my shoulders down and beating the piss out of me, but seriously? What would you have done? I don't remember any of this and I don't blame him. The neighbor kids saw the whole thing and listened through the wall as he was beating me. They told me about it later.
One time I skipped school to go to a huge party at the biggest ski resort in south Alaska. I didn't make it back to the house before my parents got home in time so I just stayed gone. What the fuck? I didn't have anything else going on and I knew that would be my ass. It was the middle of winter in Alaska and I slept in Anchorage bus stops at night, not the bus station. They were just boxes with a bench and a space heater in the ceiling. I cadged money for food, sold weed for a small cut and basically became a vagabond. But you know what? Every night I saw my dad's car driving the streets of Anchorage looking for me ... every single, fucking night ya'll! That went on for several weeks and, tired, hungry, smelly and broke, I gave up, let him see me and take me home.
By eleventh grade, I had only earned about 6 credits toward graduation so the school kicked me out. I had been in fist fights with teaches, skipped more than I attended, was a known dope head and the school just said "No more." I mean, c'mon? Can you blame them? I went home and told mom and dad I was done with school. I was going to find a job somewhere and I didn't give a shit. I was NEVER going back and that was that.
So I was enrolled in a private, Christian school the next week and was right back at it. Their "idea," not mine! This school was so easy. It worked on the pace system. As soon as I could get done with the books and pass the tests, I could move on to the next one. I made up every credit I lost in public school and even got ahead of the curve. I lettered in wrestling and was really starting to get happy! Yeah, it was costing my parents about $250 a month, we (as a family and as a prerequisite to my admission had to agree) to attend their church everytime the doors were opened and I had to take courses on religion, (my first interaction with God.) It all seemed to be working out though. Oh yeah, did I mention I had to get my hair cut and wear a tie every day? BLEH!
Things looking up, it must have turned out okay right? No ... I stole a car. Old dogs and new tricks ... right? I just wanted to use it joyride and be the big man on campus for the day. I had stolen the key from a neighbor's key ring and took off as soon as they left for work. In the space of ten or twelve hours I got in a wreck, went to a rival school and did donuts in their slushy bus parking lot while school was letring out ... I was having a ball, ya'll! I'm surprised I didn't kill anyone. My third time through the post gate taking a group of friends home from school, I was stopped and arrested. The car had been noticed missing and reported stolen by then. The neighbor didn't press charges but a school security guard at the school I did the donuts in had gotten the plate number as I sped off. They DID want to press charges and called the State Police.
By the time court convened and I went to jail, my dad had applied for a transfer. He had to sell his car (a totally tricked out 1976 Tyota Land Cruiser wagon which he was planning on eventually giving me) to make my bail. He knew that if we stayed in Alaska, I would never survive so he sacrificed his dream to take care of a punk-assed kid that couldn't have given a tin shit about him. I was put in jail until we left Alaska and told never to come back by the judge. That's when we moved to Louisiana and I've been here every since.
As I got older and matured, I realized what I had done and tried to make it up to him. I spent ten years in the Air force hoping he would appreciate that, but dissapointed him again (in my mind) when I only lasted ten years. I worked about twelve years as a country radio DJ (seven of those I was going to school trying to get my degree) but radio isn't a "real job" it's just being a big-shot, good-time Charlie, an ego trip. No future and the shoulder length blonde hair with four earrings in my ear didn't raise the bar in his eyes either. I did finally get my degree becoming the first one EVER in my family to graduate college. My mom was proud of me, I think he was too but I never remember hearing it. I know that was the proudest day of my life and I was proud of me! I became a news photographer and then a TV producer ... he couldn't catch my news broadcasts so that was a phantom job for him. Hey you try explaining what a news producer does! Everything that came out of the anchor's mouths was put there by my fingers on my keyboard. It wassubstantial! He sees what I do now though, and has expressed his pride in me for my accomplishments and I thank him for that.
My whole life, I was a rebellious little snot but he was beside me all the way ... no matter what. I needed a thousand dollars? Here you go. Advice? Always there with it. Dad I just want to say I'm sorry for what I did. I've always looked up to you and been proud of the way you lived your life. I hope the rest of my life can make up for the first part. I'm afraid there is one more dissapointment looming, but that's all on me and I apologize in advance. I love you and Happy Father's Day.
Tommy

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Edit: Sorry folks. This is as nekkid as it gets for this week. Be back next week. HHNTto you all!

I have to tell you. This is the hardest post I have ever had to write.
I hope I can get through it without turning into a blubbering idiot, but actually it's already too late for that. Sorry. I don't want to write it, I really don't, but deep down, I feel I have to. It's almost like an obsession at this point. I have been carrying this baggage around for decades and I hope that by putting it to paper (so to speak) I can exorcise the demons that taunt and torment me. They are eating my soul and I want them gone. It happens throughout the year but about this time of the year, every single fucking year, it really gets unbearable.
You see, June is my least favorite month of the year. Let me rephrase that ... June 14, Flag Day, is one of the greatest days I have ever known. June 19 is, as of this moment in time, the worst day I have ever had the misfortune of living through in my life. It also ruined my relationship with God, a relationship that was, until June 19, a fairly strong relationship. I was studying to be a preacher at one point in my life (that's another post for another day, so don't even ask) and all that was wiped away in the space of a dozen hours. I regret it but like some married couples, I can't forgive and forget.
My whole life is a dichotomy. I hate June and I love June. Does that sound fucked up? Yeah, you are right. It is. But there is a reason for that.
**Fair warning** This is going to be a fairly long post if I can get through it and definitely not a happy one. I may have to split it into two posts depending on how it affects me. Sorry, but I love you too much to lie to you. If you are looking for laughs or witty repartee, move along. Nothing to see here folks. If you want to get another small glimpse into how I got to be the person I am today ... then read on. I don't expect many of you to stick around and expect even fewer of you to comment but that's OK. This is for me today. Don't say you haven't been warned. Seriously! Don't fucking bitch at me if you go on and get disgusted. Everybody gone that's going? Good. Then lets get on with it.

1986 I was stationed in Germany. It was a good assignment and life was pretty good too. I had been married for over a year, my wife was pregnant with our first son and things were going pretty good.
We lived many miles from Ramstein Air Force Base (about a 45 minute drive) and I used to stop off at the NCO club for a few drinks after work.
That's not true ... I was beginning my downward spiral into alcoholism. I mean, damn! That German beer was GOOOOOOD! The end result was I had a pretty good buzz on when I left there every single night. As far as I knew, everything was going fine with the pregnancy! She took care of herself. Saw the doctor regularly. Took all her meds. She was a responsible mother-to-be.
June 18, she was about seven months pregnant and I was at the club preparing myself for the drive home. As I recall, there were ten 16oz Heinekin cans, empty, lined up in front of me and I was working on the eleventh when I got the call ... she was going into labor. My stomach sank and I think I sobered up immediately (even though I know that is medically impossible.) You see, deep down in my heart of hearts, not to mention my gut, I knew there was a problem. She was only seven months pregnant for Christ's sake!
I rushed out to the car (after slamming down the last of my eleventh of course) and headed home. I don't remember how I got there and I'm surprised I didn't get pulled over and arrested on the way. I'm lucky that I avoided a wreck that maight have (and probably should have) killed me on the way. Sometimes to this day I wish that would have happened. I finally got home. Thank God for the autobon! Even without my medical degree, I could tell she was definitely getting ready to have this baby NOW. We got our shit ready (we hadn't packed anything and weren't even thinking about the hospital yet) and headed back to the base hospital. I wish I would have had a video camera taping us. It must have looked like an episode of the "Keystone Cops" or "Three Stooges." I bet it would have been worth a laugh or two today!
If you've had contractions you know what that 45 minute trip was like. Again, I'm surprised we survived it. We got to the hospital and got her checked in. They put her in a labor and delivery room, hooked her up to the delivery hardware and left us alone. Do you know how awkward that is. Let me fucking tell you ... It fucking sucked. We both knew there was something coming that was going to change our lives forever. It was the literal 500-pound gorilla in the room.
I am sorry to say that whatever words of comfort I was able to muster weren't very comforting and that was probably the first time I abandoned my wife in our very young marriage. Truthfully? I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad. I wanted anyone to hold me and tell me it was going to be OK. I wanted someone to tell me to shut the fuck up and stop thinking about myself ... that I had a mother there who didn't know what was going on and she needed me to take that burden for her and tell her it would be OK. But we were alone together ... small talk, chit chat, nervous laughs. I failed her at that moment and for that I will forever feel a sense of shame.
She went through the whole cycle of labor that night but it was a slower process than we thought it should be. She didn't dialate like she should have. The nurses came in and tried to find the baby's heartbeat. They couldn't. Their mannerisms and exchanged glances told me everything I needed to know. Finally the time came and he was coming. It was a hard delivery and I was scared shitless. But what are you going to do? I had to pretend like everything was OK even though I was dying inside. I don't know why I felt the need to pretend ... she knew as well as I that this was a night we would never forget no matter how hard we tried. I held her hand and whispered encouragement, hoping against hope that they were wrong, yet knowing deep down that they weren't.
How the fuck could the God I had dedicated my life to and still worshiped and believed in do this to us! That was the only question that kept running through my mind during the whole process. I didn't have an answer then and I still dont.
Christopher Thomas was born early in the morning of June 19. The cord had somehow got twisted around his neck and strangled him. I remember a few things about that night. I remember seeing him as he slipped out of the birth canal. His eyes were open and they were the prettiest, brightest blue I had ever seen in my life. He was perfect y'all. Absolutely perfect! I couldn't understand how we couldn't be shedding tears of joy as his cries filed the delivery room.
I remember the Doctor snapping off his gloves and saying, out fucking loud mind you, "Yeah, this baby has been dead for a while." Matter of factly, right in front of me and his grieving mother. I hope he is dead and suffered as much as he made my wife with that one casual statement while the life blood seeped out of his body.
I remember calling my mother and telling her we were coming home to bury my baby and sobbing uncontrollably on the phone to her the whole time. I don't remember much after that. The next week or so was a big blur. I was no use to my wife in my grief and she was no use to me. We were like extras in a George Romero flick just going through the motions. I know that somehow my wife got a stuffed rabbit and that became her surrogate for the trip home. She wouldn't put it down or let it out of her sight. I'm ashamed again to say that I didn't care. Whatever got her through it was OK with me as log as it didn't interfere with my self-medication and grieving process.
We finally got home and laid my baby boy to rest in the cemetery near the church I dedicated my life to God in.
It used to not be so bad. I was stationed in California, Korea and Tampa and spent a tour in Saudi Arabia during Destert Storm 1. He was always on my mind but I couldn't go see him and that made it easier to put my emotions in check. Put them on the back burner so to speak. But now I am here and can go visit anytime I choose. I don't know which is worse.
If you have made it this far, thank you. Just a short trip left and I'll be done.
That day ruined my relationship with God. I still believe in him but I despise him. No lightning at my house? The fatty must be some good shit and I hope he enjoys it ... he created it after all.
Don't even ask because yeah, I've been through years of counceling and therapy to try and resolve this. But it seems like the only thing I've resolved is that life is a crapshoot. I believe God is on the beach in Jamaica or the Bahamas sipping a nice, tall, cold margarita and puffing on a big fatty. And as far as the crapshoot goes? I've been shooting snake eyes for a long time but that's OK! I prefer to trust my own luck as far as life goes thankyouverymuch. At least I know I give a shit.
Yeah, Tommy's life hasnt been a honeymoon so far but that's alright. I mean it. Truthfully, whose has? It really doesn't matter. You know why? I feel a lucky seven coming my way. It's just around the corner and I plan to let em roll. Disgusted? Feeling sorry for me? Don't. Cuz the kid will be all right as soon as hell month is over. Thanks for letting me vent.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 7:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (44)

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom ..."
Anais Nin

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The Beatles
Rubber Soul

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more
In my life-- I love you more

**edit: For those who may think so, this post is not aimed at anyone in particular. This song has just been running through my head all day. I don't think anyone wrote a better love song than Lennon and McCartney at their peak. I love it and just wanted to share it with you. TG**

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 4:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

Christopher Thomas ... you are always in my heart. I miss you terribly. I would really like to know what kind of man you would be today. We are OK for the most part. Taking it one day at a time. Send us some love now and again and I'll see you on your birthday. I love you.

In other news, I have totally screwed the pooch tonight. I have flushed a relationship that meant the world to me right down the toilet. I really effed this one up. Honey, I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day and give me another chance. Friends, I don't want you to feel sorry for me or offer condolences because I don't deserve them. I did this to myself and a man has to face what he has done and take the consequences. It just hurts so much all over right now, that I think I need to step away, far away. I don't know if I will be back or not. I just need some time. I love all of you and thank you for the good times. Tommy ... out!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (36)

I am writing this from my hospital room ... no, don't worry. Just a few sulphur burns, a broken nose, a couple of bony protrubances and about a dozen stiches in various places. Nothing too serious. I took on the Dark Lord yesterday. Two men went into the cage, only one would walk out. The house was packed y'all! Judas was there. I think I saw the Marquis de Sade schmoozing with Hitler. The communists had a huge party with strippers and when I say the Vodka was flowing, I mean RIVERS of the shit. Stalin tried to get up on stage with one of the strippers, slipped and fell right into Mata Hari's lap. It was freaking hilarious! Come to think of it, I didn't see them around much after that. Hmmmm ... but I digress. I think they filmed it for pay-per-view, I'll let you know when it should play.
The deal was two out of three falls, winner take all. We started scrapping before the bell even rang. I couldn't wait to whip his ass and take his crown but he is after all the Prince of Darkness. I should have known he was going to cheat. He used his tail to leg whip me to the canvas. Before I knew it he had me in a figure four leg lock, but I wasn't done yet. I brought some brass knuckles in with me. I reached down in my pants grabbed ahold of my ... er, knuckles and came up with a few good strokes, er ... blows hits to his face. He was bleeding like a stuck pig. That's where the burns came from. (Didn't you know Satans blood is like acid? Do your homework people!) I'm not sure how I got behind him but I finally got him in the patented "Tommy Knocker" (that's a modified sleeper hold) and he went down! HARD! Round one to Tommy! The only problem was I got poked by one of his horns ... hence the stiches.
The second round it was much of the same ... kicking, spitting, biting ... just flat out scrapping in the mud and the blood and the beer. I hit him so hard he shat in his tights so there was some of that as well. I remember him shooting in low and when he grabbed my legs, slipping in a rather large, oderiferous pile of shit blood or something. It was that time he brought his head up and knocked me slap the fuck out broke my nose and pinned me. Round Two? Damien's Dad.
Round three came. This was it. Winner of this fall gets the crown. suddenly I felt a power surging through me. I looked over into his corner and there he stood ... one eye swolen almost shut, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, tail cracked in two places ... he was a mess and didn't look so damned scary anymore. We walked out into the center of the ring and bumped knuckles. I could see the grudging respect in his eyes. He despised me and I think he feared me a little too. We went at it and the action was a blur. He knocked me down in the corner and got up on the cage. He pumped the crowd and prepared to deliver the death blow. It hurt like hell but I managed to roll out just before he hit the ground. He was stunned. I grabbed him by the broken tail and threw him into the corner. I jumped up on the second rope for leverage and pummelled him mercilessly. I saw his eyes glaze over and jumped off the rope. He stood there wobbling for a bit. Back and forth, back and forth then the laws of gravity kicked in and his face hit the mat. I could smell the water in my tights as I got excited victory. I rolled him over and that was it.
So now Tommy rules the underworld. My horns look good but I had to send out for a new tail. The old one was beyond repair. Dr. Mengela said it would never swish right again. But the nurses here? OH MY! They remind me of royalty. And the "service?" Can I say with a clear concience it's almost "heavenly." Of course I can because I rule here now! Ladies ... the line to congratulate me on my victory forms to the left. And I promise ... no brass knuckles in these tights. I'm just very happy to see you.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Today is June 6, 2006. 6-6-06, 666. And 'The Omen' is being remade. HMMMMM could it be ... SATAN! I think I'm gonna break a mirror, walk under a ladder, step on a crack, spil some salt and whatever else I can think of. I figure by the end of the day, I should have enough Mojo built up to take on the Dark Lord (and no I don't mean Lord Voldemort silly!) Winner take all, two out of three in a cage match. I figure if I win, my love life will certainly pick up. I mean chicks dig dark, horny bad boys right? Right? ... Beuler, Beuler

**chirp, chirp**

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

First off let me say that I have lived in Louisiana off and on since 1979. After 10 years with the U.S. Air Force, I came back here to make a life for myself and have been here every since. There is something that pulls my heart to the humid bayous. They are beautiful with cypress trees all over, spanish moss hanging from the limbs almost brushing the water's surface. Their large, gnarled roots sinking deep into the water, taking nourishment from the earth they find down below. It's a place you can go and truly be at one with nature. Sometimes if I close my eyes I can hear the haunting strains of an accordion, wafting through the trees and it gives me goosebumps.
I love the culture that is based on the French heritage. The music the Cajuns and Creoles enjoy can make you stomp your feet, get up on the dance floor and two-step or jitterbug untill you drop. The beer flows freely and laughter rings out from every corner of the room. That same music can tell the story of the Acadians and how they were forced from their homes, the slaves that came from Haiti, the Carribean and Africa who came to this land and brought their culture with them. It is a proud heritage and to hear it sung reaches down to the bowels of my soul and touches something there that is almost indescribable.
The food, like the natives of this great state, is spicy! Once you have tasted true cajun food, you will never be fooled by imitation and when I say true cajun food I ain't talking about that crap that comes in a box with the guy playing the sax on it. **shudders**

Even the names of the food sound exotic and foreign ... gumbo, jambalaya, boudin (pron: boo-dan or boo-dah) ... these are the things we eat with gusto. We do everything that way. You want to know what the recipe for a good time is? Gather a group of your closest friends and fill the fridge with beer. Put on the ball game or some kicking cajun music and mingle. In a large pot, add 200 pounds of crawfish, corn on the cob, new potatos and sausage. Spice until the mixture is hot enough to peel paint and boil until potatos are done. Strain crawfish, line picnic table with newspaper, dump the contents of pot on the table, take everybody's keys and mingle some more. Later break out the watermelon that has been chilling all day in the cooler and watch the sun go down.You may doubt me but it's the best time you will ever have.
Louisiana is the "Sportsman's Paradise" and many of our activities involve the outdoors ... fishing, hunting, camping or just visiting the lake for a barbeque ... we love the outdoors. I am proud to say I have taken part in all of those activities although not as much lately as I used to. That's sad because there is something about throwing a motor in the back of the truck, heading to the lake, renting a boat that leaks like a sieve and trying to keep it from filling with water as you try to coax a bass into having lunch on you that makes you feel SO alive.
I am a proud carnivore. I eat meat ... lots of meat and it don't really matter what species it comes from. Try getting someone from New York (no slight to my New York friends intended) to sit down with you and belly up to a plate of alligator balls! Can't really blame them I guess but they are not the "man rocks" of alligators. I promise! You ought to try them sometime, seriously!
We also have a sorted political history. From Huey P. Long and his brother Earl to Edwin Edwards Louisiana has a history of crooked politicians that everyone in the nation knows about. I believe we have more former elected officials in jail than any other state in the nation. Rep. William Jefferson (New Orleans) will be the next one to have a cellmate tatto the word "bitch" on his ass. Mark my words it's coming folks! The strange thing is, for years that was a secret source of pride to many residents of the state. We might be piss poor, our education system may mot be at the top of the list but we had the crookedest politicians in the nation, brazenly crooked and we loved them for it! The governor is having an affair with a stripper named Blaze ... in the Governor's Mansion? Hell yeah! You go man! We're with you!
But it's the 21st cenury now. It's time to give up that past and try and reform Louisiana into a state we can be proud to call our home. There are people trying to do that but the corruption and the "good ole boy network" is fighting tooth and nail to keep the status quo. We will win, but it may not be in my lifetime and that saddens me. Here is a good example of what I am talking about. Committee kills cockfighting ban
Why? No, Seriously. Why? WTF! I just don't understand it. But I don't want you to feel bad for us. We made this bed a long time ago and are still sleeping in it. The mattress is lumpy from all the bribe money that is stashed inside it but there is room for all of us to sleep comfortably. Self inflicted wounds take a long time to heal. One day we'll fumigate and get rid of the roaches. When they are gone and a new day dawns in the Bayou State, you and I will sit down and get to know about 200 pounds of mudbugs over a nice cold beer. And hey, if all else fails I was born in Houston and still hold that Texas citizenship! Hmmmm. Now if we could just talk someone into spiking the watermelon ...

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)