Birth of the Bunion Boys

Dear Diary,

Developments. I finally admit defeat on the score of confounded identity, and hereby apologise profusely, to K.B. for thinking you were someone else.

It didn't help having t'other party naming posts with the titles of emails we'd sent, nor did it help with said ... person (to put it mildly!) signing off in the same manner as you K. This is proof that aforementioned ... person ... was in the system, reading my inbox, and the intimacy of our conversations. I don't want to mention this any further, but I do sincerely, wholeheartedly apologise for all this mess.

As for the rest of the accusations, Maxy Waxy is sticking to his guns all the way. How stupid was I? Very stupid, very gullible indeed, at least on that part of the scam (confounded identity). The rest? Maximus shall n'er be fooled again. It's a crying shame we never got together K. but I cannot live my life in regret.

They say in the Greek language their are three types of love: love for a friend, love for a sibling, and Eros. The first type is what we had, on both scores, until it was torn to tatters. Shredded by playing head-games, which are not conducive. I am aware of the goings on on the blogosphere (thanks to a comment on my YouTube channel), the truth being exposed with regard to my confounding of characters, the two fair-maidens involved. I am such a silly sod. I have been feeling rough for days, in tears, but now I am even more upset. So much so that I dare not read what others say about me, us, on the blogosphere or in the unsafe realm of wordpress.

Enough! I wish it were all over, but I fear this saga is just beginning to get started. Maxy Waxy mustn't dwell on such trifling matters.

On a more positive note, the beauteous Sue hath been in touch of late. I like her a great deal, she reminds me of K. Very feminine, gentle, and nice. I am due to attend a meditation session sometime next week with her.

Which reminds me, if Sue pops around again, as she did whilst I was away, I must straighten this bachelor pad out, get it cleaned up, make it fit for a lady. Their's not many women I would actually bother to take such a drastic measure for, but Sue is one of them. I am just glad her ex is back with his ex, at least for a time (that was the 'faller' at Sundays gig).

All this nonsense is good songwriting material. I can at least come away with something positive from all this nastiness, people seeing my 'dark-side' come out. These unworthy feelings only surface when people are dishonest with me. All I ask is for folks to be straight with me, which is not a lot.

Here is a tale from the vault. Most people I give the benefit of the doubt to and then I end up getting screwed over when I discover they're a turkey. This happened many times back in '99 when I was young and naive. One time though, the opposite happened.

I was camping out near the city-limits when two other tents were near mine. The next night I returned and both tents had re-situated themselves adjacent to my chosen spot. It turned out to be two other vagabonds (beggars, not buskers) and I actually became quite good friends with them. The following night I sat in one of their tents and we all shared a smoke. This vagabond offered me a pipe. I thought it rather strong and immediately tapped out the thing on the floor. He went ballistic! I couldn't understand why, it was only a bit of pot. Or was it? No. It was the lions share of the mans heroin stash. Ooops! No wonder I coughed up and couldn't handle the stuff!

Anyway. A few days later we were evicted from the site, due to a large fire they had made (I always make a small fire, or rather, none at all, reliant on a gas-cooker). By this time I was mildly addicted to the strong stuff, and went and lived in some den in town. This is where I discovered the band Nirvana, and where I lost my body and mind to a couple of grey weeks.

The sound of a banjo drifted through the hallway. I rose out of my stupor, and traced the sound of the resonance to a door around the corner. Grabbing my guitar, I knocked boldly on the door. A tall, braw man answered. He had a serious expression on his face, and his bedsit was empty, bare. I assumed he had hocked it all for heroin. The only objects in view was a mattress pushed up against the wall, a makeshift table (an upside-down crate) with two rustic chairs.

As it turns out, the man was a Zen anti-materialist, and a guy whom I assumed was another addict, was anything but. It just goes to show. You meet people, you make assumptions about them, only to discover that they're nothing like what you thought. It's usually the other way around for me. I normally give people the benefit of the doubt, trust them until they give me cause to do otherwise. However, this guy I had not trusted, only to discover his was the most solid bloke you could ever meet: Grant Scot McCormick.

For the next decade and a half, we would hobo together on the trail, play Bluejass music, and he would sculpt and sketch wherever we went. Alas, this was the beginning of the Bunion boys, and I can safely say that it was Grants friendship and our music, that got me off heroin. I was only a week or so in to a habit, and things could have turned out much much worse had it continued the way it did.

So anyway, that's just one nugget from the past which I choose to share with you people, my meagre audience. A big hello to all you Americans out there, I noticed you had visited my blog. Groovy. Grant and I met another American, a good guy, Eddie, but that, is another story.

Good-night y'all.

Maximus Fleximus.