HULKAMANIA HAS RUN WILD ON MY LIFE AND LEFT ME IN SHAMBLES

Be a man Hogan, take responsibility for a broken life! I was but a boy then, not realizing your awesome power. I was one of your detractors. "His chops are robotic, unconvincing!" I would cry, "He takes a piledriver as a child would take a dose of unpalatable medicine: begrudgingly!" I was impressed by neither your stage charisma nor your physicality. Under that harsh tungsten you looked like a sophomoric clay figurine of a man. Eyes of dead un-empathy! Face jarringly jumping! Biceps, triceps, pectorals moving with animated transparency! My wife Elizabeth clasping my arm. Durham, North Carolina in the fall, the turning of the leaves, the turning of faces to heels, Elizabeth turning to me with a smile intermingling the pleasure of one gazing upon a belov'd face in a crowd of chaos and the subtle arousal brought about by gazing upon the oiled bodies of chisl'd combatants in a ring of crimson! Oh robber, this was our pleasure! An idle comment opens the gates for your fury, yes? I do wonder how many other lives have been trampled under your oppressive pride, herculean strength of narcissistic force obliterating all that brings to light the smallest flaw. Oh new God, I have felt ye, my Icarus heights smashed by the sun of your visage, I am all darkness now, a little silhouette of a man singed into the middle of a taut grey mat.

Elizabeth and I had been wed but two weeks prior. We fancied ourselves rebels; disapproval of both parental groups is both true and inconsequential. A mutual enjoyment of the balletic art of what is in this day and age registered as "Sports Entertainment" was a bond that initially served as a epee in the unending sortie that is courtship. Two hearts pierced and enflamed, talking for hours on the subject of suplexes and selling between hours of lovemaking that reflected our love of the aforementioned in its physicality and technical skill. Mayhaps, if we had not been so fierce and non-traditional (Camel Clutches of erogenous sort, oral sex integrated into a Fireman Carry, unspeakable Hurricanranae) in our sexual endeavors, my ejaculate would find its way to the eagerly awaiting eggs within Elizabeth's mons pubis. However, all of that though is futile. The past remains static, only my grief can change. Lulls of apathy or, god forbid, mild pleasure giving way to wounds inflicted by jagged what-could-have-beens and othersuch self-inflicted implements. Yes, Hulkster, I realize that my current malaise is of my own making, but you, great alchemist, you have supplied me with the agents, the materials, the base components of an emotional disease that has existed for 20 years and laughs off any of my requests to take leave. This letter is a request for a panacea. Does your memory need refreshing? You are most likely a busy man, so I will grant you as much.

I was the man in the corduroy suitcoat, muted plaid underneath with a hint of insouciant chesthair peeking out from underneath to take in the casual spirit of the ribald locals and give a small erotic gift to my dear, sweet Elizabeth. During your match with Ultimate Warrior, himself a combatant of poor posture and grace, I made an assortment of admittedly meanhearted jibes. Who knew an "entertainer" would take a mild heckle so harshly! Your thick, leathery hide apparently hid the emotional fortitude of a lamb, face contorting to a petulant frown and ugly little pupils meeting mine in rage. I must admit, I felt jubilant! I had aroused the anger of a man who gained the fear and adulation of millions! I fancied myself among Titans, shaking hands with Hephaestus and Ahura Mazda as peers, but this hubris, it served to foreshadow my unmaking. You of all should know how it feels to tumble ingloriously, to move from the center of an immaculately lit stage to the ranks under Our Benevolent Lady of the Lost Celebrity, VH1. I know such petty jabs as these do not help to mend our charred bridges, but allow me my pettiness: You have lost vestiges of dignity, I have lost every chance at even knowing it.

It appears we shared occupancy at a Holiday Inn. I suppose that your sway at such a time must have been great, the buxom young woman at the front desk must have tumbled in a manner approaching the Library of Alexandria, secrets, room numbers, coy glances cascading out with youthful abandon. I do not blame her. She did not realize what her actions would bring about, what your inflection of charismatic cocaine-gravel veiled. How that staircase must have groaned under your furious boot! You can't have gone from hotel foyer to third floor in any less than five minutes, for I had barely finished my heel-turn promo which served as the prelude to Elizabeth and I's tag match (two local rent boys, Rodrick and Jermel, serving as our respective partners). The door burst open to you, Iscariot, going on with near incoherent speed about running wild on everything and everyone I had ever held dear before tossing poor Rodrick to his death through the window adjacent to our bed table. Rodrick's screams had scarcely been silenced by the thud of viscera striking concrete before Jermel's statuesque erection had died a terrible death and he was in the hallway with Grandmama's wool tartan wrapped haphazardly about his thin, ebony hindquarters. Elizabeth, taking this as some sort of elaborate post-honeymoon theatre, was thrilled to the point of hysteria. She dislodged a bedpost (Do you see? How could one not love a woman of such vitality, ingenuity, and passion?) and struck the back of my thigh, sending me tumbling onto the ground and into a fetal mass of tears. You ripped off your deceptively slap shod tights revealing a member atrophied by years of anabolic excess and Elizabeth, always ready to strike when an opponent was vulnerable, irish whipped you onto the bed before performing a majestic frogsplash from the bookcase onto your tiny tumescence. This was the night you impregnated my wife as I watch, incapacitated by a broken femur.

I write this from the prison you sentenced my to on that day. My locomotion is dependent upon a wheelchair, my wife lives in a place she refuses to disclose to me on the eastern seaboard while I live in atavistic exile in the Appalachians. Elizabeth named her Terry. Do you understand? The point when your loins first mounted atop those of my then-wife is the most devestating leg drop you have ever performed. You did not destroy the championship of Macho Man Randy Savage nor the pride of Vince McMahon, you have taken a family and crushed it under your near-300 pounds of bleach-blonde, tanned terror. Be a man Hogan, give me my respite. It is the least you can do for this cuckold, this gimp, this man who you have run wild upon.

R U READY

This is the beginning of this thing. I will start posting old writing here.

Let's Blog. Hooded is doing good and I hope we can go on tour this summer. I am constantly anxious for no real reason, though semi-real money/direction-of-life concerns exist. This is manifesting itself via periods of manic jokezzz and periods where I can't get talk to anyone without feeling that the complete and utter destruction of my life and all relationships I hold dear is somehow imminent.

SPRING BREAK!

Doubt is a near constant entity and shit gets real sometimes. Mistakes are made. Anti-mistakes are made and then discussed and dissected in future conversations in order to glean some degree of the triumph of making them originally as well as to remind yourself that you're still a human capable of interacting with other humans in some (potentially) meaningful manner. Fuck solipsism, fuck regret, fuck loneliness, BUT fuck being mad at yourself for falling into the traps of the aforementioned dudes. My photons are somewhat corrupted, but that's fixable. How a thick facade and a thin skin can coincide is beyond me, but it's pretty much everywhere (I'm pretty guilty of it). I'm pretty sure the persons we have invented on top of the people we are are pretty much less interesting than those dudes, but it's real real hard to cut that shit out sometimes. Nobody to blame! Crime with many victims; no culprits! Why did you have to go and make things so complicated!

LET'S ALL BE FRIENDS

MEANS TO AN END