Do you see it? It's traveling at 70mph and coming straight for you? You can't possibly miss this! It's the anticipation that's the best part. The adrenaline, the build up. You know it's just about time. It's so fucking close! Then you swing....swing like a pro and that ball goes flying. It's outta the park! It's gone! That ball is gone! Home run...world series style. Bet that ball made an impact somewhere. Whoever it hit most likely felt the relevance of the impact as well. Doubt they think the relevance is important though. Probably just mad they got hit with a fucking baseball. Maybe it was Neil Capra. That would be odd, wouldn't it. Neil Capra wandering the streets in a homeless daze and outta nowhere here comes this baseball and it knocks him clean out in the street. He drops right there from taking a baseball to the cranium. Lands flat on his back on the pavement and basks in the wonder of a random baseball attack. It would be pretty far fetched. In reality it could never happen. Physics and reality stop things like that from happening. What a buzz kill.


Batting time is over. I only take the time to hit a few balls out of the park to see if I still can and to relieve stress. It's fun too. I have a busy day ahead of me though. I need to get back to the hotel. Matt is already bored anyway. He's been hitting on the female security guard for an hour while I abused the pitching machine in Wrigley Field. She let us in because she was a fan. A fan of a team that was long over. Matt and Jeff are a thing of the past. I've surpassed the gravity of it, Matt never will. It's why he's sinking and I can stay afloat. I don't share these thoughts with him. He's not one for deep conversations. I toss the bat I was using down and make my way over to Matt and the female security guard. I don't really give a shit what her name is. Sounds callous and mean, but it really doesn't matter. She smiles and I already knows this means Matt's not coming back to the hotel. It's not important. I'm not sure why I even brought him along anyway.


We exit Wrigley field and I already know what Matt's going to say before he says it. He wants to go off and disappear. He wants to know if I'm cool with it. I barely pay attention to his words because I heard them all before like a script written out a hundred times. I don't even have to allow it much thought. I just nod and give a thumbs up. It's that easy. My part in the Jeff and Matt show never did have that many lines. He's already down the street with the female security guard by the time I hail a cab and climb in. We all traverse the world to a tune meant for our own ears. There are no two similar snowflakes and there is no two completely identical tunes. Similarities in sound but not identical....not completely. Anyone who disagrees are just fools and romantics looking for something to make them appreciate life more. I don't need to sugar coat life to make it more appealing. I know where I stand. Whether it's in a ring, on top of a mountain, or in the pit of hell. I know where my feet are at all times and I appreciate that shit. Loving risks don't change it either. The risk taker loves every minute they live to take another risk. That's me, that's my tune.


I reach into the pocket of my black cargo pants and retrieve a prescription bottle. I take out 4 pills and swallow them down. They should begin to kick in before the cab reaches the hotel. They should be in full effect by the time I get to my room. Then maybe I'll be able to sleep. Sleep doesn't come so easily to me. My mind is much too active. It's always been that way. As a kid I could stay up for days before I finally crashed. I couldn't help it though. It's just the way it was. Probably why my behavior became so erratic. Even before I ever took drugs, I was an odd duck. Look at me now....not much has changed. I am still as misunderstood as ever. There's no age limit on that though. No height and weight requirement. No gender specifications or race preference. If you're a misunderstood oddball at 8 chances are you're gonna be that same misunderstood oddball at 88. It's not a huge deal though. I'd rather be misunderstood than understood completely. That would be annoying as hell if everyone knew where you were coming from and what you meant at all times. There's no surprises or excitement in that. You know you grasped someone's attention when they look at you confused and ask you to explain yourself. It gives you a stage and a voice. Let's you introduce someone to a new concept.


The cab pulls up to the hotel and I climb out. I pay the driver and continue on towards the hotel. I feel the wave sedation begin to wash over me. It's cool, I'm almost to my room. I take the elevator to the 5th floor and walk to room 5D. Inside I walk to my bed and drop. Landing on my back I feel the room swell and stretch around me. Like I am no longer in a hotel room being held by the boundaries of reality. I now have entered a new plane of existence. A rapture of mental freedom and a realm of pure intensity. Yep, the drugs kicked in. My pupils are probably dilated to the size of grapefruits. Like portals to my expanded mind. I take one last relevant thought and I toss it to the wind like a balled up piece of paper. No longer am I constricted by rational thought. No longer am I a prisoner by things that make sense. I am now free.


The ceiling opens and oblivion radiates down. Like a channeled Armageddon staring me in the face. Then like a siren she calls to me. A voice that has danced upon my eardrums before. Eyes that can stare directly into my soul unblinking and accepting. Her embrace binds tight to me and pulls me in. I don't fight this. A seething sea crashing into me. I feel myself pulled under the riptide as I am engulfed in her essence. Then all at once I am spiraling down. Spiraling down an endless summit. I'm not certain if I'm awake any longer either as the restrictions of existence don't seem to be in play. Where I am is not of this earth as I look about this steam and stench filled bog that has surrounded me. I am in the hell of all hell's. This is the plateau of limbo. A mediocre place that reeks of "almost" and is the same color as pea soup. I wade through the waters and try to find the key to my escape of this place. There's always a way out. Before this "out' dawns upon me, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and drown in a tidal wave.


Darkness is all around me now. I feel around and find a lighter. I flick the lighter and it sparks to life. The sun is gone but I still have a light. The light radiates and expands like a single candle would in a room entirely made of mirror. It's maddening and defying of all logic. I toss the lighter and I hear something shatter. A shatter that resonates and permeates over all. It soon becomes the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking and it's deafening. I drop to my knees and cover my ears because the noise is too much to withstand. It feels like an eternity before the noise finally ceases. I stretch my hand out and carefully grab the lighter I threw. I flick it to life again. I'm now surrounded by millions of shards of broken mirror. A million years of bad luck. I reach out and grasp a thick sliver of mirror. It's big enough that I can still see myself in it. I hold it close and see a ladder. The ladder is old and rickety. It bends and shifts in the wind and looks very unstable. Without warning the ladder collapses. I toss the piece of mirror aside and rise to my feet.


All at once I feel hands place themselves upon my shoulders and I am spun around. It's Neil Capra. He stands there with a grin and a florescent light tube in his hand. We're now in the middle of the ring on Madness. Hundreds of screaming fans fill the arena. This is our match. Last man standing. Except Neil Capra doesn't strike me down. Neil Capra just stands there as the fans increase in loudness and excitement. Neil Capra finally moves as he raises his hand and begins to wave. The ground beneath me gives way and I plummet. Last man standing and I haven't any ground to stand on. I fall forever into the abyss.









My eyes fly open and I am now awake. The wonderland of madcap lore that is my dreams frolic about my head no longer. I look over and see the clock reads 8am. Pixie is asleep next to me and I don't even remember her arriving to the room. Then again after I dropped onto the bed I think reality flew out the window so I don't think I noticed much. I climb to my feet and walk over to the balcony. I look out at the morning that has overtaken the city and sigh. Another day has begun and soon I'll be meeting Neil Capra in the ring. We shall battle it out until only one of us is standing. He has no idea what he's getting himself into by participating in this match with me. He claims that I shouldn't flatter myself. That he doesn't fear climbing into the ring with me. So he's either lying to me and himself or he just may be a soul that circles that brink of sanity as I do. Except unlike me his insanity impairs his intelligence.


I can hear the lack of tangible ideas as he tries to compile and construe words together. He loses his train of thought quickly and picks it back up in a fashion only someone truly messed up in the head would. If we are both irrelevant as he states and he claims he's come to terms with it but I haven't...why does he need to make an impact to become relevant. He's come to terms with being irrelevant so why the need to be relevant? Doesn't sound like the thought process of someone who came to terms with anything. Coming to terms with something shows you've accepted what you've been dealt. You're ok with the hand your were given and you're cool with things as they are. Why would you then need to change anything. It sounds as if he hasn't accepted things at all. It sounds more like he's attempting to convince himself that he's come to terms with things.


Oh Neil Capra...so quick to let words fall out of your mouth, no matter how blatantly idiotic they sounds once you finished. I won't insult you anymore though. You can do that well enough all on your own. Any person who's heard you speak is already laughing and rolling on the floor from you not only butchering the English language but for your inconsistent babble. Are you a fucking crackpot? Yes. Are you mentally sound? No. However you aren't a danger to anyone. You're more of a...eating paste, mittens pinned to your jacket kinda crazy. Realizing this about you changes nothing. I'm still going to climb in that ring and hit you with everything I got. I won't really have to though. You'll be down and out long before I've even become winded. I'll remain the last man standing and you'll be carried away on a stretcher. The belt will remain retained by me and the fans....the fans can do whatever they want. I don't give a flying fuck if they cheer or start throwing garbage. Is that the wrong stance to take? If you think it is I guess you haven't been paying attention. You need to stop trying to find WWE and TNA, Jeff Hardy. That Jeff Hardy is dead as far as I'm concerned. There's only XWF Jeff Hardy now.