honea byrne

While getting sober, I was fortunate to have a  counselor that introduced me to a book that forever changed my life,  The Artist Way . The book is in a format that coincides with 12 step recovery. I did the steps of AA and the steps of  The Artist's Way   side by side. The Artist Way, teaches how to encourage and become reconnected to your inner child. Furthermore, teaches you how to do things that your adult logical side says no to. I'm referring to things you usually won't do because you fear looking silly, or you don't have the time, or you'll do it later.  It could be something like stopping on the side of the road to take a selfie. Some of mine include, playing at openmics, and collecting/reading comics. When first doing drugs and alcohol there are moments when we lose our inhibition. Losing our inhibitions, has some of the feelings of freedom as being connecting to your inner child/peace. Unfortunately, after alcoholics, addicts become trapped in their u

In our latest chapter to (click  The House Of Baghhkkk-oooze ) I make reference to a character, Zene Levi. This character is from one of the first books I wrote when I got clean and sober titled  (click 2to1 .) Introspectively, from 2002 to now, I see that this book was very strangely therapeutic. I was coming to terms with the autopsies I assisted in doing, as part of my training in the US Army, as a Mortuary Affairs Specialist. Through most of it I was hungover. I remember the time as part to wake me up I worked on an autopsy of someone who died of alcoholism. Was too wasted to really get a positive effect from it. In this book, I was also reflecting, my life before the US Army. When I came back and the issues I had with returning home, after I the US Army. That's for another blog post. I remember our First Sergeant telling us when we assisted the FBI in 911, something to the effect of "...don't be afraid to get help even if it's years from now."  To me it

Tony Robbins told me on "Get The Edge" that I have to get certain.  He told me to close my eyes and hope for something. Then he told me to close my eyes and be certain of something. I found like all do, that there is a level of confidence that is reached when 'certain.' I recently have started doing one repetition of bench press in the morning when I wake up. Some mornings I haven't been able to do it. When in failure, I get over two hundred pounds pinning me down. I have to wiggle my way out however i can. On most of these moments I failed because I didn't think I could do it. On the evenings of those mornings of failure,  I add five more pounds then I do in the morning. I do this so I can be certain that the next morning I can do it. I have found that by practicing, and/or, doing something over and over again brings us certainty. Unfortunately, this also applies to habits that aren't good. Another way to be certain is to tell yourself something ove

Years ago: The early morning sun rays came out. There was steam and dew off of the surrounding waters that lingered to the parking lot of the unnamed hotel. The owner spent hours before finding a side room. When he stepped outside of it the police were waiting on someone. Heath was outside looking very worried. His hair looked greasy and he was already sweating profusely under his arms. Felicia, formerly known as Monkey, was outside too. When The Owner saw the police he immediately threw his hands in the air surrendering. Heath’s eyes got huge shocked. He was very relieved. He just knew for sure he would be arrested. Heath had a bag of the hybrid weed from The Owner. Coincidentally, two of the five arresting officers were in the car chase many weeks earlier. They had lost The Owner when he dove into raw sewage.   “Thought you said the  coypu  would get him.” “He’s gonna’ wish the  coypu  got him.” The Owner didn’t resist. The officers took him to the ground quick as if he w

The House Of Bachuss (Chapter 1: Take Me To Church) “ ‘You like dat shit uh?” He asked the dealer’s monkey. Her role was more    like a lab rat.   "Monkey," was the dealer’s pet name for her. She was a strung out teenage runaway,    when he met her.   He has her sample all the drugs he gets before he buys. Her name is Felicia. He kind of thought   it was amusing. May not have been her real name; like the crackhead on the movie “Friday.” “Baby come to. Stick with us,” he ordered his woman. Her eyes were getting glazed over. Took about thirty seconds for her to come back. There seemed to always be a party at this house. In its former glory this house was  pristine at all times. The two story structure was once a dental office. It was big enough to have two families live comfortably. That was over a decade ago. Now it was lopsided, had broken windows, pieces of the front were missing exposing the sheet wood. There were always    about thirty addicts there at all ti

"I didn't speak until I was around six years old. I was afraid to speak because all I ever heard was yelling. My parents argued a lot. I heard once that my father saved my mother from hell. She was a woman addicted to drugs, looking for anyone to save her. My father worked in a funeral home. Once, he was involved in a cult case 'The Harvest Moon.' I was in a back room of the morgue because, as usual, my mother left me there. I somehow wondered into the examining room. At the wrong; or was it the right time? When I walked in I saw the corpse of the cult leader Zene Levi sat up and looked at me. Then the strangest sound came out of his mouth. They said the body of Zene Levi, functioned like it did because of air, and nerves left in his body. What I heard, I was able to pronounce. Thus that sound became the first word I spoke. Eventually that sound evolved. My mother said it was a curse. Every time I said, "   " something awful would happen; like, someone get

It's taking time for me to express to you what it means to me to have your support in reaching over 100,000 views. If your seeing my blog for the first time. Thanx. On these pages are my thoughts on life, samples of my creative works.  These are mostly from my e-books on Amazon kindle. click here for my Amazon kindle page The latest blogs, as of Summer of 2018, are from "The House of Bacchuss"-this is about a haunted rehab facility in New Orleans. We release a chapter a month.  click here for chapter 1 I f you're not into all that horror, one of my most popular posts are a "100 Love Letters I'll Never Send." You might also want to see "Notes Byrne" my memoir (somewhat fictional). If you're seeing this again, I thank you for continuing support. I am getting better at what I do. Am very honored you stayed with me. I am pretty sure we both learned something about ourselves, the world and where we fit in this world. Please subscribe to

Years ago, he had  walked into a movie theater, in Atlanta Georgia, during a Batman movie with an assault rifle. He opened fire, killing over forty people. He tried to get off on an insanity plea. Over the years, he has been the subject of documentary films and books. Before the murders he was an honor student at Oglethorpe. He was on an internship studying Temporal Illusions, as it relates to space and time. Many psychologists have speculated the internship pushed Helms over the edge… At first, people were cheering. They thought the guy, dressed like Joker, firing the firearm was part of the show. Until, a lady in the front row screamed, “I BEEN SHOT!” The terror spread in seconds. “…at that moment, something inside of me came alive. I was one with the god inside of me,” he told the people in the court. “It had to be subconscious,” he thought to himself as his eyes were immediately drawn to the family members of the slain. He sensed anger, fear, and sadness too. It excited him.

The accidental tourist had called the number by a command on his cell phone He drunkenly said, “Baghk-ooze” instead of Back-uss. As in the restaurant. The House’s number came up.  It’s a telephone line that usually can only be reached by going through a series of algorithmic mazes. Thus his smart phone’s gps lead him to a side door. “Who are you?” The accidental tourist asked. He carelessly stepped inside. “Hello, my name is Henry Howard Helms. My friends call me ‘Howard.’” The door slammed  behind the tourist. “Is this The House of Baghck-ooooze?” Once again his drunkenness caused him to say  the House’s name correctly. Then the tourist got more frightened as he started having a memory that was Julius. The memory of the door when it closed. Julius insisted to walk to the chair alone. It was his last living act of dignity. Howard smiled gleefully. For once, he could do what he had wanted to do. Helms  lunged forward. Stabbing him in the stomach

TO READ FULL CHAPTER CLICK HERE HH Helms first day. After being told about the history, and watching the residents on a monitor, he was put in the file room alone with the instructions to read all the residents files. He was also warned, “Do not talk about this to anyone! OR ELSE…” He evidently got to the wrong drawer. Found Dana Keves ’ folder and now the dreadful scene was playing in his mind. It was World News back in the late 1990’s of the Cult leader Dan Keeves. The FBI had been at a stand off for many weeks with his cult “Harvest Moon.’. They had taken away their electricity. After losing two agents, and going through three negotiator’s talks, they had enough. They warned Keeves to come out with his church members. When they didn’t get a reply in twenty hours the FBI threw in smoke bombs. This must be what hell is like.” She thought to herself as she was  running desperately looking for a window. a door, anything. She heard her friends and relatives screa

Down on his luck. By way of a phone call, Henry Howard Helms gets a job interview at an addictions rehabilitation center named THE HOUES OF BACHUSS. TO READ FULL CHAPTER CLICK HERE   ‘Yea I guess.’ ‘Great. Meet me tomorrow. Go to the gate in an alley by the yellow house with a bricked driveway on Illuminated Drive.’-dial tone. Next morning, “‘Love you, honey,” his girl kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door. He thought it would take a while to find the street near Bourbon. Yet it was too easy. As if something guided him there. That made him scared.”‘People are always scared of change,” he told himself for reassurance. . The house looked like two neon boxes that were stacked. Plywood covered the windows and front door. He walked into the alley to a large pale green gate with a huge chain with a padlock. ‘Damn,’ he didn’t see any button to alert someone. Then he walked away. “Hey! Wait!” He turned around to the early twenties male with a shaved head, wearin