This Ain't the Mudd Club, This Ain't No Foolin' Around

Sometimes when least expected, you get a burr up your ass and you are compelled to take stock, realizing that the mud is hardening around your ankles and unless significant effort is made to free yourself from its soon to be concrete grasp, you’re one doomed motherfucker.
I am parting ways with many effects of a lifetime past. Some things used to be a lotta fun. They ain’t now. Some behaviors used to be tolerated and expected. They ain’t now. Who or what is making me feel thus? Me. I’ve had enough of ‘what has become’ dead weight hanging on my back. Like a humongous blood filled leech it’s been slowly sucking my life force, keeping me in a state of suspended animation, at bay from reacting to my natural impulses. No good.
Now, it’s safe to say you can call my ass Neo. Here’s why...
I watched a show the other day, a very surreal event where they’d paid and filmed folks from all different callings of life to reside under a common roof. There was a male porn star. An ex rapper. Ageing t.v. star. Young and very confused reality t.v. star. Lying, good looking, fulla shit bimbo. And Tammy Faye, of Tammy Faye Baker fame.
One day all the residents of this television aviary accompanied Tammy Faye to a book signing for her new book, “I Will Survive and You Will, Too”, at a local bookstore there in Los Angeles... where else, right? All were in attendance except the porn star, who, without knowing the show’s itinerary, scheduled a bar bq for all his friends there at the house; surprisingly a most entertaining group who were also from all walks of life; a swath of libidinous wackos who were filled with a certain zest, a rousing panache, as it were. Most interesting lot (I actually ended up personally liking the porn star a lot, as did Tammy Faye, who took a lot of heat for it from certain interviewers, but true to form, she admirably held her ground) Meanwhile, while the meat was cooking back home all was fun and games at the bookstore. There were flaming gay men in attendance. Butch lesbians. Transsexuals. Religious zealots, too. Then there were her housemates. Wow, watta crowd!
Everything was really hoity toity and... gay, but then at the closing Tammy Faye gave a speech that turned everyone’s head around. Not a dry eye in the house. Especially the rapper. Nor mine, truth be told. In this overamped, peach crate stomping stream of consciousness, Tammy Faye got to the heart of it, describing how in ancient times if you killed someone their bodies were strapped to yours and you had to carry that body until you too, died. Can only imagine how gory that shit would get... now there’s you a sentence! But then, right when you thought Tammy Faye had ingested a little too much ether, she turned the corner and leveled everyone there, saying that at one point in time in her life, she too, found that there was a dead body strapped to her back, keeping her from truly living her life, trying to drag her down into death’s stagnant and rotting pit. By now the mascara is streaming down her face, and she’s not done yet... oh no! Her voice rising a few octaves, she says when she realized what was happening she threw this body off of her back and began to slowly live again. “Throw that dead weight from your back! Throw that dead weight from your back! Take your life back! Take it back!!” she wailed like a woman possessed, her face a clown-like mess, her conviction unshakeable.
I can’t properly convey the reaction of this crowd gathered there, but through the medium of television I too felt a tremendous lifting of spirit, kinda like when the crazed loony televangelists tell you to put your hand on the television screen and be healed, but this one, unlike those charlatans, was for real.
Who could’ve guessed I would be affected in such a positive way by, of all people, Tammy Faye?! But I was. And it was good.
I’ve been at work on myself for over twelve years now coming to grips with many aberrations that had become part of my everyday, ones that I’d simply outgrown. Not to knock what I did or how I acted, but a newfound sensibility is now driving my days and it’s been a long time coming in ridding myself of this dead body clinging to my back as it tried its damnedest to bring me down, keeping me tethered and buffaloed, bloodied and battered, headed for ruin and destruction if I’d let it.
That thunderous hellfire and brimstone speech by Tammy Faye stoked some flames under my ass that I couldn’t believe and these past few weeks I’ve become a hobgoblin of activity, determined to put my best foot forward and get back into the swirl of life after leaving society completely behind some four years ago. Those four years were time well spent. Entirely necessary. But I’m juking and jiving now, breaking free of the dead weight which was keeping me from moving at the pace I needed.
Fucking Tammy Faye at the helm of a critical juncture of my life? Whoda thunk it?!
I’m not gonna go wearing mascara and wigs anytime soon. My sexuality isn’t anywhere close to question -even though some varmints in Shitville are having a good time at my expense on that one given some vicious rumor and innuendo, coupled with a most narrow view which fills them with pitiful glee- ...sad, miserable fucks. But I’m proud to say that little bitty witchy woman burned my ass. Burnt it good. Everyone should be so lucky to recognize these angels when they descend to get your attention, and if your ass gets scorched in the process, take note and do something about it! Look at the possibilities, screw the impediments. You’re not living on the edge? Then you’re taking up too much motherfucking space!
First item of business? Remove head from rectum. All important. The rest will follow.
People get ready, for a change is comin’.