25 years...

It’s strange to think how much I’ve experienced in these past twenty-five years. So much learning, so many opportunities taken, many others passed on by. There has been such an abundance of individual growth. I wanted to take a moment to share with you some of the highlights, lowlights and other lights in between that have spent the last quarter of a century molding me into who you now know as Brogan.

Independently Happy...

In the past, my friends would refer to me as a serial monogamist. I cannot deny what is true, and therefore I cannot deny this accusation. For many years, I allowed myself to be drawn down by others because I needed to be needed. The addictive thrill of infatuation didn’t hurt either, but the real exhilaration comes from feeling for even one moment that you are the only person who can make someone else’s world right again. It isn’t true, but it feels damn good to think it is.

Online Gay-ting...

In this modern world of ours, many people turn to the online dating scene to meet people. Perhaps our lives are too busy. Perhaps society is changing in ways that make meeting people in conventional ways much more difficult. Perhaps we want to hide behind a screen until we feel comfortable enough to actually approach someone else. Whatever the case, my experiences in the online gay dating scene have been...interesting. So naturally I wrote a poem to express my feelings about it. Happy Monday Fun Day! Enjoy.

What are you so proud of?

I am not proud to be gay.

In fact, the concept of ‘gay pride’ has always kind of baffled me. It is my understanding that the community at large would like the people of the world to believe that, to quote Lady Gaga, we were just “born this way.” It’s in the genes. Part of the original blueprint. A stipulation in the contract that my soul signed before entering this body. By no means is it a choice.

I'm a big boy now...

Almost every Friday night for the last several months, since mid February if I remember correctly, I have spent my evenings well into the learly hours of the morning with an amazing group of flesh craving, heartbeat deprived lunatics. Not many people have the opportunity to spend time every week with a horde of seemingly insatiable zombies. Even fewer, I think, have the chance to willfully forfeit the living world for an eve and join the thralldom, enslaved by a never ending hunger for warm blood. We even get paid for this nonsense! I consider myself very lucky.

FedUp...

I’m sitting on my couch.

My coffee pot is sputtering away heating up water for my second cup of tea. I haven’t been able to invest in a water filter bottle yet, so I heat up my water like MacGyver. It’s a thing…don’t worry about it. The incense cone I lit a while ago has burned a quarter of the way through. Much less mess, incense cones. Sticks have a tendency to ash up everything. Unless, of course, you have an enclosed incense box. Note to self: add that to my list of necessary investables.

Just a Quickie...

Hello my dearest friends and readers! This weekend, any of my normal dedicated writing time was taken up by various emergencies and life happenings, so I thought I would simply do an update post this go around. You know? Talk about what's good in the hood. And stuff. Yes...let's begin.

WORK:

I'm now a full time manager at my little metaphysical shop on Christopher St. We're a tiny family there, but I'm so happy I'm finally feeling like an actual member of the group. This store has been a life, faith and happiness saver, and I'm so grateful for it.

Also, every Friday night from around 9 to 12 I am a zombie at an attraction called Zombiefest. It is one of the most fun and ridiculous jobs I could have ever imagined having the pleasure to work. We (that is, we actor zombie peoples) run around with patrons for a few hours in the most epic game of laser tag I have ever experienced. Seriously, if you come to visit me, let's set up your run through the Asylum. I'll scare you shitless, you'll get to shoot me in the head. Fun!

WORLD:

People keep telling me it's Spring. Even the trees are waking up, flowers are fucking with my nose and I'm greeted by a chorus of chirping birds any time I arrive home too learly. The issue I'm having, though, is that it's still averaging around 50 degrees. We're way into April, world...get that shit together. I want to go busking, and I need some warmer times to make that a thing.

WOES:

My neck has been hurting. I think my body was just spoiled by years of a tempurpedic mattress. This spring nonsense just isn't cutting it. Might have to get some kind of cushy pad cover business.

Last Friday night, I received my first major zombie injury. A patron's gun made unintentional contact with my nose. It's a bit sore, but it's getting better. Should be totally alright in another day or so. Zombies don't die, and neither shall I!!!

I've been falling behind on my keeping in touch through letters resolution, and I'm sorry. If you're reading this, you have my permission to harass me into getting back on track. I'll appreciate it.


To keep it quick, I think that's it for now. I intend to take some time on a more creative post sometime between the Monday Fun Days this week. Sending love and light out to each and every one of you, my lovelies.

A Mouse in the House...

When I was little, one of my favorite books to read with my mother was A Mouse in the House by Henrietta. Honestly, there was very little reading involved. This beloved childhood book of mine was in actuality a large book of assorted two-page long pictures in which my mother and I were charged with finding a tiny mouse amidst a seemingly endless sea of refuse and household crap. Think of it as a Where’s Waldo? for rodents.

Now I’m grown, the book spends its days stored in a box within the closets of my mother’s North Carolina home, and I sometimes think back on the memories and smile. I find myself thinking back on all those fun pre-bedtime mouse hunts more often of late. The reason, you ask? It’s quite simple, dear reader. Now that I’m grown and sharing a big boy apartment with two lovely ladies in Brooklyn, I have my very own mouse in the house.

Haha...Got Ya!

Having spent several years playing grown up now (you know, apartment hunting, paying bills, figuring out life and all that good stuff), I’ve made a pretty funny observation. An observation of something which is funny. Not funny-haha…more funny-what-the-shit. Understand?

Good.

Beautiful Inconvenience...

Having been born in the shaft of America’s penis, I am no stranger to extreme weather phenomena or the effects they seem to have. Hurricanes the size of Texas (or larger), tornadoes strong enough to wipe out entire trailer parks, wild fires complete with exploding palm trees, droughts that go on forever, floods to drown even the heaviest of duty vehicles, sunburns through t-shirts, trudging ever on in the gelatinous humidity and wishing you had a knife to cut your way through, winds whipping debris around fast enough to slice your limbs off…these are my childhood companions. We Floridians know how to party, let me tell you. As fun as all that sounds (and some of it really can be fun), each and every one of those things is on the list of reasons why I chose to leave Florida in a permanent kind of way.

Customer Service is Customer Service...

Last May, I ended a seven year marathon of working in one of the largest grocery store chains in the south eastern United States. In that time, I learned a great deal about interacting with the public on a regular basis. Some people pop into your life for a brief moment or two and leave you feeling inspired. The other 99% of customers do their best to make you a jaded, crushed soul who hates everybody and trusts no one. After somehow retaining my sanity and a love for humanity, I terminated my employment, moved up to New York City and began the job hunt.

The Speechless City...

Last June, I made a great big life change and moved to New York City. While I don’t claim to be an expert yet, I certainly do feel like I know a thing or two at this point. Spending my days riding about on subway cars and walking the seemingly endless streets of this sleepless city, I’ve managed to make a surprising observation: the silence here is deafening!

Dancing with death...

Fear is a stupid thing. Its sole purpose in life is to limit and control what we do. Sure, you could say there is such a thing as a ‘healthy dose of fear,’ but I prefer to call that sense. Fear is a silly idea of humanity that is twisted, warped, contorted and utterly abused in ways that keep us locked into whatever life our societies deem appropriate. I suppose the most ludicrous of fears is that of death.

Good, Bad and Ugly

If I’m ever to fulfill my dream of making a musical about New York City adventures, I’m going to need a lot of amazing character actors. This is not an assumption, because I know what happens when one assumes. Neither of us likes being an ass…forgive my speaking for you, but I think that’s a reasonable call on my part. It is cold, hard fact.

A Holiday Poem

Happy Christmas Eve, dear readers, and Monday Fun Day to boot! Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, there is holiday spirit all around this time of year. As such, I thought I would try my hand at recreating an old classic with my rather interesting holiday weekend at work for inspiration. I do hope you enjoy.

Calling all survivors...

If you’re reading this, the idea of the December 21^st, 2012 apocalypse can safely be ruled out. I begin this blog at 3:25AM (since, you know, sleep is no longer a thing I do), which leads me to believe that I’ve successfully survived. For all I know, countless people have been led to a land of bodiless souls while I remain one of the chosen to live on…I suppose I’ll find out later. I don’t have a television, so news reaches me later than most.

The Other Half...

This past Wednesday, I was presented with a unique opportunity which I am ever so happy I took advantage of. A friend of mine was asked to put together a serving team for a private party. Anyone working with him at his restaurant that he normally would have used seemed to be scheduled or riddled with prior engagements, and thus came about the initiatory text.

“I know we were planning to see the Hobbit on Saturday, but I have some news that may throw a wrench in that plan. Are you free?”

Well, seeing as I was already planning on spending the day with him anyway, my freeness wasn’t really in question. I asked what he had in mind.

To dance upon the wind...

People are quite like bubbles, I think. It all begins with a breath of life, a dripping wet mess, and then off we fly into whatever may come. Bubbles are wondrous, fragile, all too temporary orbs of beauty and light. They cannot control their fate any more than we can when the wind decides to change its course. Those that choose to fight the wind will undoubtedly break under the strain, and those that follow the currents may find themselves popped either way.

What nice cabinets you have...

I have no fucking idea what it means to be a grown-up.

Is swearing a part of it? I’ve certainly had that covered for a while now. Then again, I can recall many a time hearing some awful little elementary school prick kid screaming obscenities at his mother in the middle of the grocery store. That being the case, my extensive sailor speak vocabulary puts me on par with that little shit. Groovy.

Scavenger Extraordinaire...

My biggest issue in the days following our Lady Sandreline has been a lack of work. The tiny shop from which my rent and food money is derived resides in lower Manhattan. Lower Manhattan, for those unaware, was without power and train service for about a week after the whole storm blew by. Train tunnels were flooded floor to ceiling, trees that had stood for many times over my age in years were uprooted and found blocking roads and crushing cars, and at night the normally sleepless city was eerily dark. With many key holding managers stuck in the world beyond the PATH train (New Jersey), I have spent my days walking the city in the hopes of something interesting.