Mist Me

Posted by Michael Mazzella
|
Posted on April 18, 2014

Michael Mazzella PicYou got that medicine that I need. Mist me. Take my soul away. I used to be an angel, but take me, turn me into the devil. Have what’s left of my soul. Shoot it deep into my heartstrings. Mist me. I need to be seen. Hear me. Place me in the center of the dust storm. My innocence lost. I’m looking to take it hard. Let me imitate the greats, please, you got that medicine that I need. How do I need to get there? Mist me. Give it to me. It’s what I want. Take what soul I have left. Bring me to LA.

I can get prettier for your movie. I’ll lose weight. I’ll be better. You got that medicine that I need. Mist me. I’ll study. I’ll change. Put me on your cover, please, I can be an angel again. I promise. Let me rise and shine. Who do I have to meet? What corner do I need to stand on? I’ll go there, I’ll do that.

You got that medicine that I need. Take it from me. Have what I had. Just give me my time. Put me in your movie on your TV show. Please. Mist me.

Make me a star. Put me in your movies, buy me a Louis.. What I’d do for fame.

Give it to me.

I’ll trade all eternity for it. Bring me to LA. Put my star in the sky for all to see. I’ll take it hard. Whatever you want.

Now, I see. He took my soul away. You can’t make me happy. The work is what I truly need.
If you only knew what people have done for it. What monsters they have to live with. You only see it briefly on screen. Please stay longer.

You got that medicine that I need.

Michael Mazzella

Michael Santino Mazzella

Imagine a place where drive-through alcohol and bookie-gambling fathers are the norm. Stumped? Well, that place is Lafayette, Louisiana – the place of my birth. It is a fun loving, cocktail-in-the-morning, gossiping kind of town.

My mother, a housewife with the most bless-your-heart southern charm, and my father, a jet-setting dad with a glamour-filled life only Hollywood could concoct, were my only sages. Growing up in a small town, my world comprised of my parents, a sister, a community of ladies who lunch, and a rigid religious education.

At the tender yet tyrannous age of four, I had a feeling that there was something other than my present circumstances that I was meant to pursue. I knew then and there that I was on this planet for a reason. Granted that at the age of 4 my ability to articulate such thoughts was close to non-existent, but the “feeling” was absolutely there. We all have that “feeling” and mine was all encompassing.

There was nothing worse than having the “feeling” and not knowing how to pursue it. I gained weight. I suppressed the racing intents of my mind because I was a cord with no outlet, and it hurt. The birthing pains had begun…good times? I grew to a robust 300 lbs. At the time I didn’t realize it, but this too was part of my path.

One day, I was watching TV with my mother and we came across a woman named Joy Behar and an actor she was interviewing on the now iconic talk show, “The View.” THAT was it! THAT’S what I was born to be! I was meant to become a storyteller of the human experience and continue on an exploration of the human heart through entertaining others.

But how? How on Earth was I going to embark on becoming a storyteller, entertainer, and instigator of laughter that would bring joy to people and open their hearts to the human experience? I needed to learn not about people but about being human.

This question and answer manifested itself through tennis.

In Lafayette, tennis was at the epicenter of the social scene, so I naturally followed it closely. During one particular match, I overheard a commentator that the tennis player in front of them attended the IMG Nick Bollettieri Tennis Academy. In my extraordinarily naive mind I thought that if this player achieved such success in his career, I must follow in his footsteps and attend this institution too.

Two weeks later, I moved to Bradenton, Florida to attend Bollettieri. The day-to-day hell, physical and mental beating, endless life lessons, friendships that will last a lifetime, and stories of triumph and failure are far too many to list here. This part of my journey brought me closer to realizing that “feeling,” my Dharma.

I knew to get even more comfortable, I was going to have to take a step back and get incredibly uncomfortable first. That discomfort appeared as a debilitating left shoulder injury. As a left-hander, this meant the end of the glory days as well as my career in professional tennis. At the age of 17, I left the institute, knowing I had learned all the lessons it was meant to teach me. I said goodbye to those who had become my new mentors and leaders in thought, such as Monica Seles.

I blindly moved to Los Angeles with the knowledge that failure only breathes when lack of effort does.

My latest sage, Wendy Williams, became my idol. I watched her everyday knowing that one day I would have a stage too that would allow me to be a vessel for whatever message I was am meant to relay. This road is hard; it is riddled with success greater than anything my mind of limited capacity could have conjured, but it has also come with great grief, disaster, and deep loss. I believe these are all lessons part of my path.

Today, I have appeared on “The Wendy Williams Show” and spilt my time between Los Angeles and New York City, producing celebrity events and programming. I have learned a lot, but I certainly have a long way to go with countless life lessons in front of me. I’m on a journey and trying my best to blindly trust that it will be “all good in the hood. “

Think of me as the love child of Wendy Williams and Andy Cohen, with a Godmother named Oprah, born in Jessica Lange’s Asylum. Aka, Blanche Devereaux.

More Posts

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookGoogle PlusYouTube

Paradise

Posted by Michael Mazzella
|
Posted on April 01, 2014

Michael Mazzella PicCreating Paradise

I dream of Paradise. A world with no struggle. A land of girls and oneness amongst all creatures. Chasing waterfalls no more, the land of Gods no more, instead ruled by the master of the Universe. The hand that graces us all and protects despite disbelief.

Is this Paradise? 

I dream of Paradise. A world where dreams come true and mountains move. Seas part at will and stormy skies are splintered with sunlight. Red Cadillacs move towards you. The tight softness of her skin. There is no fame or fortune. No class, no money to be had nor lost. A land of closed eyes and radiating hearts whistling our reasons.

This could be it. 

I dream of Paradise. A world with no judge. For the one-time inaccuracies of the face and body are no longer seen. The beauty within shines a magnificent shine. I look directly into the sun without a blink or shielding of the eyes.

You’re in Paradise. 

Paradise. 

Cream on the skin, so sweet and warm. The dryness of the grind lathered away, made a new. Just a girl seeing the world for the first time. The sound of the click as a freshly minted key enters the gateway to a new hard earned home. The smell of the engine cranking and revving as a girl drives away a woman. This is a world where none of this matters. Paradise.

Paradise 

My soul stripped of its egotistical needs. Removed from the comforts of the material world. Gone is the bed, the ceiling, the exterior, the interior and all other items – some meaningless and some pieces of a heart story. Tears dried. Stripped naked with no shower to cleanse a tired soul, leaving only the mind’s growing sight untouched. Creativity that soars like an eagle – a previously small bird in a land of crystals and diamonds. A yellow diamond may have once sat on a plastered hand. It’s gone. Now an ultraviolet rock glows from the front and top of the mind. For without the human’s perceived needs and life lived in the bare, we have entered Paradise.

The sun will come out soon. No. It’s already out, look just a hair closer darling and you will see too. Look through the skies to see the sky. Only sun looks back upon you. Darling, this is Paradise. I know the sun will shine. I know the days will wane in old age. I know the soul will ache. I know the feet will blister. I know the beauty will fade. Be with me now, the days are slow and short. Rapid-fire days are missed. Every tear had meaning and the storm vanquishes flight. It matters not. In a place where nothing else matters except you and I. We are in paradise.

Paradise 

Need not yell, for we are here and it has always been with us. Go. Do not walk, but run into Paradise.

Unknown Paradise

I miss the moments of days of old. I dream about them dearly, holding on to the memory and grasping at things that once were. Typically my tendency is to subject myself to a purgatory of sorts. Inflicting a choice between two polarizing directions. I will only be happy when I go there, live in that mansion, make more money, become more famous, see the stars more vividly. Rare are the days I sit back and enjoy the journey on the road to paradise. I am guilty of holding myself to the visions of what will be and worse, when will it be?  I cannot fathom current day happiness and certainly not thoughts that only exist in the present. What’s next?  What is to come? When will it be? This is all I think. Perhaps these are the days that matter the most: the middle-ground days. Your path has begun, but you aren’t in full control of the helm yet.

If I were to place myself in my mindset from two years ago, my fantasy was to be where I am now. Not only have I reached that former goal, but also I’ve smashed it, having risen higher than my younger mind could have fathomed. Yet, here we are again, another war in my mind, selfishly wanting more and marinating in discontent and ungratefulness. I am such a deeply flawed being. My mother often says I’m just never happy, as though I refuse to be ok with where my life is. She’s right, I can’t seem to ever relax and enjoy the details and present experiences of my journey.

I realized today I’m living the book. Right now I’m living the real-life memoir that will one day be read by many and empathized with by those dreaming of more and holding on to their souls through simply a vision and a choice. We control everything with the thoughts in our mind. I suppose you could classify this as the case of wanting something just a little too badly. I cringe to say it but I believe that I am the single-handed cause of my own dissatisfaction and therefore find myself continuously suffering. I want my goals and dreams to become tangible so badly that I forgot to look up and only focus on the pavements I’ve chased. To see the roses around one’s existence is a beautiful gift of glory. We must not only see the roses but also stop to smell them. This is the true miracle.

Laying in us all is the undying, unyielding fight to just BE: the mission to be our true authentic selves.

Purgatory-

1. A place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven (definition from Roman Catholic doctrine).

2. Mental anguish or suffering.

3. Having the quality of cleansing or purifying.

The definitions above describe our existence when we refuse to bask in the present gift of today. It also reads that those sitting in the spiritual layover are set to enter heaven once the much-needed lessons are learned. Perhaps this is the phase that gives us the strength we need to fully embrace the greatness to come. It’s a metaphor of life as we know it, steps cannot be skipped, and true happiness is a sculpture waiting to be crafted. It may be that I am on a road to nirvana; I’ve certainly sat in this same waiting room many times in the past. We are here for a reason. I believe that it is in preparation for a dream fulfilled simply so magnifying it could only be a dream that of GOD. We must suffer, we must induce our own agony in order to be cleansed and purified to enter our own Heaven. Just as we can cause our own “hell on earth” we can do the opposite too. I know deep down in my soul that reaching the peak of my imagined summit is imminent. Often however, I live seeking paradise and ignore the one I currently live in.

Michael Mazzella

Michael Santino Mazzella

Imagine a place where drive-through alcohol and bookie-gambling fathers are the norm. Stumped? Well, that place is Lafayette, Louisiana – the place of my birth. It is a fun loving, cocktail-in-the-morning, gossiping kind of town.

My mother, a housewife with the most bless-your-heart southern charm, and my father, a jet-setting dad with a glamour-filled life only Hollywood could concoct, were my only sages. Growing up in a small town, my world comprised of my parents, a sister, a community of ladies who lunch, and a rigid religious education.

At the tender yet tyrannous age of four, I had a feeling that there was something other than my present circumstances that I was meant to pursue. I knew then and there that I was on this planet for a reason. Granted that at the age of 4 my ability to articulate such thoughts was close to non-existent, but the “feeling” was absolutely there. We all have that “feeling” and mine was all encompassing.

There was nothing worse than having the “feeling” and not knowing how to pursue it. I gained weight. I suppressed the racing intents of my mind because I was a cord with no outlet, and it hurt. The birthing pains had begun…good times? I grew to a robust 300 lbs. At the time I didn’t realize it, but this too was part of my path.

One day, I was watching TV with my mother and we came across a woman named Joy Behar and an actor she was interviewing on the now iconic talk show, “The View.” THAT was it! THAT’S what I was born to be! I was meant to become a storyteller of the human experience and continue on an exploration of the human heart through entertaining others.

But how? How on Earth was I going to embark on becoming a storyteller, entertainer, and instigator of laughter that would bring joy to people and open their hearts to the human experience? I needed to learn not about people but about being human.

This question and answer manifested itself through tennis.

In Lafayette, tennis was at the epicenter of the social scene, so I naturally followed it closely. During one particular match, I overheard a commentator that the tennis player in front of them attended the IMG Nick Bollettieri Tennis Academy. In my extraordinarily naive mind I thought that if this player achieved such success in his career, I must follow in his footsteps and attend this institution too.

Two weeks later, I moved to Bradenton, Florida to attend Bollettieri. The day-to-day hell, physical and mental beating, endless life lessons, friendships that will last a lifetime, and stories of triumph and failure are far too many to list here. This part of my journey brought me closer to realizing that “feeling,” my Dharma.

I knew to get even more comfortable, I was going to have to take a step back and get incredibly uncomfortable first. That discomfort appeared as a debilitating left shoulder injury. As a left-hander, this meant the end of the glory days as well as my career in professional tennis. At the age of 17, I left the institute, knowing I had learned all the lessons it was meant to teach me. I said goodbye to those who had become my new mentors and leaders in thought, such as Monica Seles.

I blindly moved to Los Angeles with the knowledge that failure only breathes when lack of effort does.

My latest sage, Wendy Williams, became my idol. I watched her everyday knowing that one day I would have a stage too that would allow me to be a vessel for whatever message I was am meant to relay. This road is hard; it is riddled with success greater than anything my mind of limited capacity could have conjured, but it has also come with great grief, disaster, and deep loss. I believe these are all lessons part of my path.

Today, I have appeared on “The Wendy Williams Show” and spilt my time between Los Angeles and New York City, producing celebrity events and programming. I have learned a lot, but I certainly have a long way to go with countless life lessons in front of me. I’m on a journey and trying my best to blindly trust that it will be “all good in the hood. “

Think of me as the love child of Wendy Williams and Andy Cohen, with a Godmother named Oprah, born in Jessica Lange’s Asylum. Aka, Blanche Devereaux.

More Posts

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookGoogle PlusYouTube