Saturday, September 30, 2006

Tribal Instincts

Living in Los Angeles, you run into a lot of tribal affiliations, gangs and cliques. I used to like telling people that I was in a gang called "Sparkle Motion," mostly as a tribute to one of my favorite films: Donnie Darko. Sometimes they would believe me, often it just went over their heads. I did my best to put up a tough front as a former member of a pre-teen dance outfit. I would even sing snippets of the group mantra, lyrics from Duran Duran. Has anyone seen them lately? I've been looking for them.

Of course, the joke was completely lost on Mitch, who took what I said to heart and actually went out and formed a gang of his own. He can't stand the idea of anyone having something that he doesn't have, even if he only rejects it. Mitch had his little band of marauders over recently and I tried my best to ignore them and their silliness, but after a while, my curiosity was aroused and I asked: "What's the name of this gang, Mitch?"

"We are the Pansy Jackers!" The group announced in unison, smiling ear to ear to ear. I surveyed the motley crew gathered on my living room floor. Mitch stood near the fireplace, always the alpha male, he was their fearless leader. Other members included a black lesbian drum major named Consuelo. (Don't ask...) And two or three apparently homeless people that Mitch had no doubt promised punch and pie to... There were no refreshments being served. I wanted desperately to smile and say "Of course you are" then retreat to the safety of my room, but I didn't. I pushed the issue and inquired: "What exactly is a Pansy Jacker?"

Mitch explained that their moniker was self-explicit, and that their group was committed to prowling the streets and jacking pansies. I thought about this for a minute, trying to imagine what the point of stealing flowers could possibly be, when Mitch explained exactly how they set about their business. "See, we wait outside a club or restaurant until some pansy comes out, usually alone, and then we pounce. A couple of us hold em down while we wrestle him out of his pants, then we jack."

"Are you serious?" I asked. "You masturbate unsuspecting gay guys on the streets? That's actually kind of sweet."

"It's not sweet at all," said one of the homeless guys. "We don't even clean up afterward!"

Suddenly, I started to feel a little nauseous and had to excuse myself. I suppose if Mitch and his gang want to go around terrorizing people with hand jobs, I shouldn't try to stop them. To each, their own.... Right? One thing is for sure, the next time I see a homeless guy on the street, I am running the fuck away.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Take a Bite

You want a piece of me? Go on, I dare ya... That's right, sink your hot metal doll teeth in and see where it gets you. Hurts, doesn't it?

But don't cry, darlings. It never lasts that long... And the pain tastes just like Mom's apple pie. I have no excuses. I have no news, that I can share. I'm keeping my secrets locked up tighter than the Olsen Twins. These days, the only way to get me to spill is to transform yourself into some kind of enigma. Trick me with your exquisite taste. Tie me to the tracks and let the whistle blow.

As you can see, I am still shell-shocked from the apocalypse. There's no beginning to the story, but I'll be sure to report the end. As long as the record's still spinning, I will be busy with my prey... I feel a bit like a reporter sent to cover the war, who stays in the hotel room waiting for something to happen. I shower, watch a bit of telly, occasionally glance out the window to see the corpses and wonder where the fuck room service is with my chicken salad.... I am a bad magician. I can't find my rabbit anywhere. Maybe he ran off with Mitch again....

JR says that the strands of my web are really walls, limitations, boundaries.... I disagree, but I still believe in those things. They exist for a reason, right? Without walls, where would I hang my mirror? Without limitations, we would all be sleeping with angels... And without boundaries, vacations would seem less important. Over here is where we keep our livestock. And this is the torture rack....

Don't push me right now, I am terrorized and I have enough reasons to be beautiful.
Bite me.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Like A Pioneer

Is the spiral turning in or spinning out?

Lately, I find myself scribbling little webs onto my bank statements, magazine covers, really whatever I can find. It's oddly soothing, though I fear the day when the spider comes home to roost. Failure is never an attractive option and I, in my infinite capacity for sabotage, tend to let my emotions get the best of me. It's this whole new "balls to the wall" attitude I have adopted. I am not sure it suits me. Maybe I am just paranoid...

Like a bad drug trip, my world just seems to be morphing so quickly that I cannot seem to find my bearings. On the plus side, I am dangerously hungry for more. I only hope that I can metabolize everything I consume. The weight of the world isn't easily lifted, is it? If you are wondering what the hell I am babbling about, you are not alone. I ask myself that question everyday. I forget who I am talking to, about, with... I have found a grand distraction in the form of an angel. It makes me wonder if I can fly?

The man in the moon dropped in and out again. My favorite regret... It's all words of wisdom and chocolate shakes, but who has the stray dog tonight? I can only pray until my knees get weak. Then I fall, then I dream, then I call and wait and wait and wait. Is there meaning to be memorized? The kind I have always seems to slip my mind. Turn around, Bright Eyes. I'm right here where you left me. Where I will always be..... And the beat goes on.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Did You Miss Me?

While it may seem like I have dropped off the face of the earth in the last few weeks, the truth is, I have actually been orchestrating the end of it. No, I never really imagined myself managing the apocolypse. It is not exactly on my list of dream jobs, but it was given to me and I did the best I could. Lives were lost, quite literally, and alliances severed, but I somehow was able to presevere and survive what I can only describe as HELL...

I battled some of my deepest fears and confronted the demons that haunt me. I have come to realize that MATH is my mortal enemy. I was always one of those kids who insisted that I would never have a job that involved MATH, let alone WORD PROBLEMS! Yet, I have found myself thinking about, staring at, and dealing with many many many numbers. I hate them.... They suck.

Part of my job involves dealing with zombies, mainly payment of zombies, but dealing with them, nonetheless... How often do you get to hand a fifty dollar bill to a three year old zombie baby? I like to count my blessings, as well as my curses. The zombies ate all the snacks and some of the crew. Locals are always difficult to control.

I might have seen a rockstar's weiner. Actually, I know I saw a weiner, but I'm not sure if it's owner is a bona fide rockstar or not. Cute, though, and it caused me to download the album from iTunes, so the "flash" technique works, no matter what market research might show.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I am still alive and well, despite the zombies, flashings, word problems, deaths, and the end of the world as we know it. I feel fine. Now, how the fuck are you?

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Ban The Liaison!

Alright kids, it's time to talk about the relationship between intelligence and unhappiness. I know there is a connection there, but I can't quite put my finger on it. It is this missing link that must be destroyed. Here is what I purpose:

Let's start with eradicating the middleman, wherever he might appear. It is my theory that our social dependence on this behavior is at the root of our problems. For instance, in your daily life, if you find yourself in the middle of a conversation that would be better served by letting the participants engage each other, politely excuse yourself. Or just get the fuck out of it, whatever works for you. Also, it is advisable to take a cue from Travis Bickle. "You talkin' to me?" is a brilliant gateway into direct conversation and avoiding the standard "What did he just say to me?" will empower you in numerous ways. Perhaps you feel the urge to say: "How's it hangin'?" to the CEO of your company, but as a lowly office boy, you are required to follow protocol and tell your superior to tell his superior and so on, until the point is lost in office politics and red tape. Finally, it is of upmost importance to NOT involve other people in the pursuit of booty. Trust me on this, you are better off not asking Nancy to tell Gary that Freddy thinks Portia is hot. Or whatever combination you might come up with yourself. Here is what you do: If you see a baboon you fancy, just yell out: "I like your big red ass!" and watch how fast you'll see results.

Once the human need to insinuate ourselves into everybody else's drama has disappeared from the planet, I believe we will finally see that it was that very thing that led to our miserable existence. Of course, I could be wrong and we would be living in chaos, hyper-aware of our unhappiness and feeling more and more moronic every day. Hey, wait a minute! That what life is like NOW....

I'm going to have to rethink this whole theory.

The baboon bit I like, though. That I will keep.

I'll be back...

If you need me, my secretary will be taking messages.

Monday, September 04, 2006

The Surrogate

I do my best to keep the vibe around here intimate.

It's what I need, impossible though it may be. The web is world wide and I am but a spider, spinning away in my little corner. See how I am? Don't make me go all Charlotte on your ass... Help may very well be on its way, from above or beyond or wherever, but I certainly can't wait for inspiration to strike. I've got a billion things to do this week and I can pretty much say that I wasted the whole weekend on Being Bobby Brown. Jesus Christ! No wonder Whitney lost her fucking mind. That dude drove her crazy....

But I digress... Intimacy is the goal, and yet, my aspirations to have a bowel so clean you can eat off it seem unseemly and, for all intents and purposes, quite the opposite of intimate. What do you want? My head on a plate? A ruffie laced Jello pop? To be bound and gagged? What? I know, I know... Too many questions and not enough answers. I can't help you, darling, until you help yourself.

I'm not great with flirting. I'm clumsy and obvious. As I thumbed the pages of a magazine recently, I noted a bizarre behaviour that truly appeared to be involuntary. When I would gaze upon certain photos, my jaw would tense and from deep within me, a growl would begin and escalate quickly into a series of short, loud barks. Now, the photos that elicited this reaction were mostly of male models, I read a lot of fashion magazines, and I don't exactly identify that "type" as attractive, yet I barked. Crazy, like a dog being teased with a steak, I barked. Ruff! Grrrruff! Arfff! And so it is.

Like Rupert Everett said in Hello Darling, Are You Working?: "You get what you want in the form you deserve." My problem has always been not knowing what I want, or feeling that I don't deserve it. So, don't flirt with me unless you fucking mean it. I'm a pit bull and you're steak tartare! If, in fact, I do decide that I both want and deserve your attentions, be prepared that you, too will "get what you want in the form you deserve." And if you deserve me, then so be it.

I have to keep reminding myself to be bold, but it isn't natural to me. I'm not a great hunter like Steve Irwin, who died as he lived: bold. I was saddened by the news, but not really surprised. I found myself saying out loud: "Everybody dies." That guy had a great spirit and he inspired and entertained a lot of people. No, I don't do that. I practice passive aggression. I spin my web and wait. Though it's not obvious, if you look close enough, you can make out what it says...

Fuck the piggy!

Mama's tits are sore now, so you'll have to stop sucking for a while. That's right. Just stop. Let go. Oh, now why are you crying? I know, I know, everybody dies... Life sucks and then you get the bill.