Wednesday, November 29, 2006

This Is How The World Ends

For you music connoisseurs and myspace freaks: I have just posted a brand new song on myspace which you can HEAR if you want. It's called This Is How The World Ends and it was inspired by my recent experiences with the apocalypse, lapses of faith and hatred of love songs. It's pretty cool...

Here are the lyrics, as transcribed by a slave army of meerkats and naturally, mine all mine. As in: Copyright Saviour Onassis 2006 All Rights Reserved and other legal bullshit. You know the drill....

I belong a long way down here
where the song sings sweet and low
winter light has dried your tears
another night and day will be a year

you're lyin when your lips are movin
I'm cryin like I'm in a movie
Shangri-la is lost forever
we search for something special

as far as sacrifices go you're as good as gold
I've been given a lie in the shape of hope
and another hand to tie the rope
before I crash into the rocks and sea
one last thought occurs to me:
we only pray for what we don't believe

yes, I'm an optimist except for the shit I'm in
love doesn't factor in ~– I never learned to swim
baby, I'’m drowning here ~– stuck in a state of fear
there's not enough oxygen ~– I'm goin down again

so this is how the world ends
just like I imagined all along

but the people want a love song
and they want to sing along with it
sometimes they imagine
that it's their own when they're down in it
but I can't write a love song
and I won't explain the reasons why
sometimes I imagine if I fall in love
it would only die...…

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Now: A Warning...

Having just come off a great-long-work-jag, Saviour Onassis doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Mulling over the infinite possibilities, he concludes that he will probably devote a great deal of his newfound TIME ON HAND to recording more trashy rock bits for an upcoming album. Perhaps he will paint a portrait of Johnny Depp or Frances Farmer or Salma Hayek... Who knows? Saviour Onassis is a fickle bitch and might even BLOG some, if the mood strikes his fancy. He has been quite upset about Gwen Stefani (again) lately and might have to rip her yet another new asshole for drawing inspiration from Michelle Pfeiffer's coked out ganster moll role in Scarface, when she really just looks a lot like Ann Jillian in whore pants.

Consider yourself warned.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The Accidental Nudist?

I recently got an eyeful of illegal alien anus, in my dreams.

It all started, as these things do, in the beginning... I had moved into my dreamy new apartment in Sherman Oaks, the Bel-Air of the Valley, and was madly in love with the balcony facing into the enclosed courtyard. It was completely private. No one is ever out here, I remember the landlady tell us upon moving in. But all that was about to change.... See, I love to breathe in that fresh California air, while sipping chai tea with a splash of french vanilla creamer, from early in the morning to late at night. I especially love doing this outside on the balcony, which is quite close to the windows of another apartment. The tenant was hardly ever there and left the blinds open, allowing me to see that she had one wall painted blood red, with a giant baroque mirror in a golden frame and a parrot. I would sit out there for hours staring at that bird, with its green feathers and blood red wall. It seemed content enough with me and its own reflection for company. Then one day, they moved out.

The blood red wall was painted white, which took several coats, and before long, a new resident had staked her claim and moved in. The blinds were left open and we were able to observe that she had very little, if any, furniture. Her financial state must have been dismal, because she apparently couldn't afford clothes either. JR noticed it first. He called me outside to verify that, indeed, our new neighbor was dancing around, completely nude. I thought that this was just an accident. She quickly realized that we could see her, and she fidgeted with the blinds, unsuccessfully, before simply killing the lights. It was over almost as soon as it had began, until the next time.

I have seen our new neighbor naked almost everyday since she moved in. I have come to expect it, in a way. She has a nice body, which seems to be what everybody wants to know. She's quite beautiful, but that's not the problem. As a gay man, I have nothing against women. I think they are pretty great, actually. And I can also appreciate the female form, it just doesn't make me bark, that's all... Anyway, this seems like an innocent enough thing. I simply ignore her ass and the fact that she will answer the door in the buff. She must know who is coming over ahead of time, right? The thing that is bothersome to me is the fact that I have had several graphically disturbing dreams about seeing naked people through windows and that, my friends, freaks me out.

Just the other night, I dreamt of an entire family, naked as the day they were born, parading around my inland empire. I ran across the street where I saw a man in a compromising position with a cat. Needless to say, the cat was not happy about the situation and I found myself banging my hand against the glass, shouting: Stop that! Hoping, at least, to startle the cat off the naked man. This is now the kind of thing I am dreaming about and I don't like it one bit. Should I say something to my naked neighbor? Or should I spend more time in my own birthday suit? I don't know.

But I do know that other people's windows are literally windows into their lives. Perhaps I need to look into my own for a change.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Just Shoot Me

I'm stuck in the middle of another god-awful commercial shoot and I am exhausted. No one should have to set an alarm for 4:00am, much less get up at that hour and start trouble-shooting/problem solving via cellphone before I even arrive at location. By five o'clock my brain is mush. I feel fat for eating too much and not having time to go to the gym, much less come home and flirt with my 10000 myspace friends. Whoa is fucking me and I don't like it.

Then there is the little matter of those who choose to dig themselves deeper holes. You know who you are, so don't pretend like no one can see what a fucking joke it all is. Okay, so life is tough.... Sober up, suck it up and move the fuck on. If Courtney Love and Whitney Houston can pull their shit together, I expect you to do the same. I can't worry about what tragic mess will be coming back home. Get it together, Mister. I mean it. Maybe look into getting some therapy. Or checking into a rehab... Something, anything. Just don't keep avoiding reality because you've made mistakes. It only perpetuates the cycle of bullshit and you might wake up some day in a mine field, wondering who set the world on fire. It was you, it always was. Snap out of it. Delusionary or not, you are better than this.

Carb is a four letter word.

I can't be responsible for the future and who has time to dwell on the past. I have the present to get through and these, my friends, are the best days of our lives. What do you say we start acting like it?

Who is with me?

Saturday, November 11, 2006


I am not a juggler.

Yet, I find myself juggling many things in my life. My career, my libido, motherhood... The list is endless, kids. And yeah, I may drop a ball or two, now and then, give or take... What's with the flirting anyway? Am I so hot, I burn? What we have here is a dilemma. Not a Court TV size problem, but a problem, nonetheless...

God, I love that word. "Nonetheless..."

David Lynch sat on Hollywood Blvd. next to a cow and a sign that said: "for your consideration: Laura Dern" and I about died. Sure, I will consider her. I'm not in the academy or anything, but I love me some dairy products, so I will SERIOUSLY consider Laura Dern.

Tell me what to do, Heir Director. Give me structure, I crave it. Give me orders and I will follow you to the ends. I need to be nailed so very badly right now.... The only problem is: I can't seem to find an available CROSS.

To each,

Monday, November 06, 2006

Sugar Rain & the Ricochet

I've got so much ephemera.

Going round and round, I'm too dumb to be this down. Yeah, I know.... Babies need us. That's what we do, but the ass wiping is starting to take it's toll. Sure, I could charge millions for this, but I don't. And I never will... See, I have what they call in the real world "ethicalness" and I plan to exploit the living shit out of it until the cows come home or Kirstie Alley stops the madness, whichever comes first. Seriously, girl..... You are so thin, it's scary!

I've been trying to bounce back from that damn COLD. I hate the fact that my body isn't always an impenetrable fortress like my heart. Viral love comes to town and this bitch goes down. C'est la vie? Shit, man... I can't deal. So, I hop myself up on licorice whips and nasal spray and hope against hope that I will survive another round in "stupid human land." Yeah, I am working again.... Along with reading Courtney Love's Dirty Blonde diaries. That, in itself, explains some of the ranting. It could be worse.... At least I'm not hanging out with Paris Hilton anymore.

Everything I thought I wanted is an illusion anyway. Despite my best intentions, I've been had. So, where do we go from here? Down, dog, down.... In the meantime, I'll just keep posing in the sugar rain and hope that what I have to give comes back to me.

Ten fold.
I love you, anyway....

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

What Do Gentlemen Prefer Again?

These days I am deconstructing within the structure. Having had my shots, I am ready for my close-up. Bring on the November Rain, the lucid pain, and all that remains... It's impressive to me that I can still do this. That this is one of the skills I have to get me through this life.

Alright, kids. Here is what I'm talking about: