Morbid Outlook - The Black Road

Before I wrap up this fucked up story, I’d like to thank Mistress and Morbid Outlook for hosting this strange little tale. They have been infinitely patient with me and my situation. I would also like to thank all of my friends, old and new, for the moral and even financial support that they have provided. And to the readers, who I hope learned something from my journey. Please visit my Live Journal at and if you feel the need or the inclination, my PayPal link as well. Thanks.

Only an hour ago I was on Cloud 9. I was in New York, working gigs, about to have a place to crash to lighten the financial load. Within the span of that hour I went from hopeful to utterly fucked. After walking away from Adrianna at that dinner I wandered around the Transit Authority for a bit, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

I couldn’t go back to L.A. now! I wasn’t done! I still needed to change! It couldn’t end like this!!! The last thing I wanted to do was run home with my tail between my legs and have to tell everyone what a loser I was just because I didn’t plan well enough. This was not acceptable in the slightest, and I knew I had to come up with something brilliant to get myself out of what had become another great, big cluster-fuck.

I sputtered and stuttered as I scrambled for an answer. After a few moments, I turned around and saw exactly who I thought I’d see: That smug bastard staring right back at me.

That slinky bastard just stood there, smirking at me. In one hand he held his top-hat, his other was in his pocket. His purple “renny” shirt looked almost black in the shadows behind that phone booths. He took that “don’t give a shit” pose with one hip sort of thrust out and his head cocked to the side like he was is some Calvin Klein ad as he spoke again in that tell-tale slow, raspy voice. “It’s not good enough, Michael. You have no other choice but to go home. Either that or become homeless and starving on the streets of New York.”

For an hour I sat there, on the cold, hard floor of the Transit Authority and fought with him. I told him over and over that I refused to have it all end like this and he replied over and over that this was how it had to end, if only because that’s what I had planned all along.

The weird thing was that I couldn’t argue with him. He was right. I did want to go home. Somehow I missed that cesspool of human waste called Hollywood. That human occupied landfill had its hooks firmly in my soul. After a few minutes of silence I started planning my exit strategy. With a triumphant smile, he stood as I did and put his hat back on.

Now at this point I didn’t have any great sum of money, so the only thing that would save my ass would be to get one of my friends to loan me the money for a bus ticket. Luckily I have some pretty wonderful friends and it only took ten minutes of frantic calling to find someone that would pick up their phone. Megan, an old friend from Texas, was the lucky customer, and after a long and crazy explanation of my situation, she agreed to buy me a ticket.

I left New York around 7:30 that night. The bus pulled out of the Transit Authority and into whatever that tunnel is that I’ve gone through way too many times in my life and I began feeling both a little relief and a lot of regret and shame.

That first night the Road Man stayed quiet. I had only my own thoughts to entertain me. Actually, “entertain” isn’t really the right word, for the thoughts on my mind brought only more pain. I had to ask myself how the hell I had let things get this bad? With the trip. With my life in general. How could I have done this to myself? All I could feel was shame, more shame than I had felt in my entire life, and trust me when I say that’s a lot. I imagined that I would be met with ridicule and resentment when I returned home. After all, I was going to have to tell someone what had happened, and people in this scene have a habit of sharing things they have no business sharing.

The next day was a nightmare. Sometime in the middle of the night the bus had stopped to pick up the passengers of another bus that had broken down. When I woke, the coach was packed and I was no longer very comfortable. I started to get stir crazy after a few hours and figured that I would totally lose it if I didn’t find something to raise my spirits. I started thinking about what I had learned during this trip. After all, even if I didn’t meet my original goal, I had to have learning something useful.

“You’re taking it all too literally again, Snake-Boi. Besides, that shaman is of the tribe, not a part of the tribe. I needed to do this alone.” I was too tired to put any vehemence behind it. Besides, I knew better than to lose my temper when arguing with him.

He seemed satisfied with the answer, but I knew better. He was just thinking about his next move and how he was going to poke holes in my faith. I let him. At this point, I didn’t care much what he thought, which was interesting because I always worried about what others thought.

The Road Man. This avatar of my dark totem, Snake. Both my greatest ally on this trip and my worst enemy. For some reason Wolf did not materialize to guide me. Instead this snobby Southern Goth chose to embody all that this walkabout was... or at least what I could be like when it was all over and done with. The Road Man was the sort of guy that I usually want to beat the shit out of. Tall, skinny, smarmy, and uninterested in anything or anyone around him. In short, the guy women wanted and men wanted to kill.

The next three days were horribly uneventful. Other than being cramped and uncomfortable for most of the bus ride, there was little worth remembering. Mostly, I struggled with my inner demons, most of which were now championed by the Road Man, and fought to find something positive out of this complete and total cluster-fuck.

It wasn’t until somewhere short of Las Vegas that things started to look up. I saw a man walking along the side of the road that reminded me of Darin. Darin was there for me the last time I had done something stupid. I won’t go into details as to what I had done, but in short it was rather ill-conceived and brash. He told me something that I will never forget. He said that success and failure are not tallied up until the end. The end. Not one moment sooner. He told me that no matter how much we fuck up in life, there is time to make it right. Plus, no boy can become a man without making mistakes to learn from.

The bus had just passed into California when I started thinking about what I had learned from all of this. I suppose I learned some rather practical lessons, such as the fact that I needed to get a better job and get off my ass so I could finish my book. But more than that, I learned lessons that every shaman must learn at some point in their life. I learned that people change, sometimes in extreme and unforeseen ways. I learned that people can do very self-destructive things and never realize the mistakes they’ve made until it’s too late. I learned that I miss living outside of the city more than I like to admit. I learned that even rich and beautiful people can be lonely. I learned that New York City hates me. I learned that home is not just where your stuff is. I learned that I have a lot to learn.

It was about 9:15 at night when the bus pulled into Union Station in downtown L.A. Over the course of my trip I had made arrangements with a friend of mine who needed a roommate when I returned to home and luckily she was ready for me when I decided to come home earlier than expected. After a few days of settling in a regaining my strength, I was ready to go back to work.

That Thursday night was Perversion. I suppose that’s where my journey ended. Right where it started. Outside those ugly blue doors, listening to the bouncers carry on and the head bartender screaming at whoever had displeased her on this particular evening. Inside I knew Jen and Xian and Amanda where doing sound checks and getting playlists together. Soon the line would be forming and Pete and Trina and Jane would be showing up, all with surprised faces as they came in and saw me in all my pin-striped glory.

Epilogue
It’s been four months since I’d gotten back to Los Angeles. In that time I’ve somehow landed a job with a company I stole about $200 in merchandise from when I first worked for them and have yet to botch it. I’ve re-established myself as the shaman of this tribe of perverts and freaks and life is good. I’ve removed certain people from my life, as they have no use to me anymore. And, surprisingly, my love life has improved... if only because I no longer waste time with skittish woman who freak out when someone worthwhile comes along. All in all, things are progressing, and while I may still be unhappy with my situation, I know that I am a better man because of what I have done. I looked into the blackest, most hopeless part of my soul and saw both squander and potential. I am doing my damnedest to make the most of that potential.