honea byrne

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...

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  ...

"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 h...

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...