Yeah, I got some...

So, my new best friend, Bored Dominatrix, and I have joined forces in order to take over the world.

Please check out our latest venture:

Genius to Spare


So be it.

Trust Overfull & the Nasty Houseguest or My Cousin Kevie

There is a taste in my mouth so foul, so offensive, so utterly disgusting that I can hardly bear it. It is the bitter aftertaste of youth, or "yoots" as Vincent Gambini would say. I have had the displeasure of hosting a complete stranger, claiming to be a distant relative. A twenty year old, ill-mannered little shit-for-brains, whom I let into my home, because, as far as I can tell, I was bored. What other explanation could there be?

"I thought I should call and introduce myself," the voice on my phone said. "Because we are family." I had answered the call because I didn't recognize the area code, and I was curious. My grandmothers brothers grandson, had tracked me down. Until recently, we had no idea that this branch of the family tree even existed. He was nervous and awkward, and I began to romanticize the notion. I tried to imagine what desperate circumstance my young cousin Kevie was in, that he would call on me for assistance. I agreed to help him, never imagining that he would show up a dirty, stupid, straight, mall-goth who would: use all my hot water, eat all my food, make me pay for everything, show no interest in my life whatsoever and not say "thank you," not once! This I attribute to his age, and the fact that he is from my father's side of the family. I should have known better.

The purpose of his little invasion was to check into a film school, here in Hollywood. I figured if he was interested in becoming a film-maker, he must be sensitive, smart, you know....artsy. But I was as wrong as polyester socks. Over the sixty or so hours I spent with this yoot, I was able to study the future of our world and it was not pretty. Due to his lethargy, I surmised that he had probably spent many years on medication of some kind. And yes, I did rifle through his belongings while he was away, discovering an odd assortment of herbal supplements and a note that said to avoid refined sugar. This, of course, didn't stop him from consuming things like: a root beer float and a piece of chocolate cake, in lieu of a meal. His taste in entertainment was just as questionable. He had little to say about films, but a lot to say about video games. When I took him to Amoeba Music (once again, the coolest record store in the world), he asked: "What is an LP?"

"Are you serious?" I replied.

"Well, I know what DVD's and CD's are, but we don't have 'LP's' where I come from..."

I explained that LP's were Long Playing Records on wax and I ignored his comment about "melting." Then I realized that the problem was where he comes from, not geographically, but historically. Born in 1985, he has never lived in a world where Madonna wasn't famous. He was a glorious example of what is wrong with the yoots of today. What, dear Cousin, you fail to realize is that M. Night Shymalan is NOT a great director! Final Fantasy is NOT an appropriate topic of conversation! You do NOT have a woman's fashion sense if you choose to dress like a giant carrot! And if you had once said "thank you," you can bet your poser ass that I would have said "You are welcome." But you didn't. And you are not welcome. Casa de Onassis is closed for business, little boy. Have a nice life.

A very dear friend of mine recently played hostess to a houseguest of her own. I listened as she related stories of unwashed dishes, deluded religious fantasies and high expectations. I felt her pain and hoped that I would be spared the horror when I received my own guest, but alas, I was not so lucky. I figured that there was some universal conspiracy behind this whole affair, that I was to be shown something, taught something. And I was. I learned that strange relatives and relative strangers are one and the same. The one redemptive thing about this nasty affair is that it is now over and life has returned to normal. I can once again sit around in my underwear, watching Desperate Housewives, confident that I will never again be so foolish as to answer a call from an unknown area code.

Faking "It"

During my years in the desert, I met many interesting and creative people, one of which is a young photographer, Joey Moon, who recently sent me the following bizarre request:

Dearest SO,...
Just wondering if you have any ideas on how to produce fake cum for a titty-fuck shot. I'm thinking egg whites with maybe Elmer's Glue or something. Just hoping that your proximity to Hollywood somehow gives you this sort of inside information.
Thanks,
Your brother in jesus,
-Joey

This was my reply:

First of all, I can't believe that this is the first thing I have heard from you in, oh, I don't know...years! Actually, I can believe it and I am flattered that when you thought about faking cum, you thought of me.

My first instinct says: flour and water or milk. Go into the kitchen and experiment, when faking an orgasm it's important to be creative. You might want to try out several different recipes. Also, hair conditioner might work. I suggest Suave Naturals Milk & Honey Conditioner (the cum-like quality is uncanny!) Depending on how you want the cum to "behave" during the shoot, you might want to avoid using glue, as it will be harder to reset if you want to re-cum your model.

I hope this helps. Please let me know how it cums out....

Joey emailed me back, thanking me for the conditioner tip and something about powdered egg whites and syrup. It seems like a sticky situation. He is working on a new project, which, based on his past work, I predict will be brilliant. His art is inspired blasphemy and I dig it.

In my own artistic endeavors involving ejaculate, I have always preferred the real thing as opposed to "faking" it. Call me a purist.

A Star Is Bored (part four)

TeenStage, founded by myself and Paul, was our way of breaking free of the tyranny of adult run theater. The only qualification to be part of our troupe was age. Thirteen to nineteen, if you didn't have a "teen", then you couldn't get on stage, or behind the scenes, everyone involved was a youth. And our productions were very much in the PG-13 category.

Our first show was a double bill, two short plays written by myself and some ill-conceived musical numbers. TeenStage Productions present "Hanky Panky," I truly had no idea exactly how twisted that must have sounded to the parents of everyone involved, but nonetheless, we were rebels. The actual plays were less risque than the title implies. The evening began with the entire cast choreographed to "Star" by Erasure... This is the most embarrassing moment for me, now that I look back. I suppose, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. We wore pink and black 'rehearsal' clothes and the routine made us look like a class of mildly retarded aerobics enthusiasts. After that, we segued into the first play, a parody of the movie "Dick Tracy." It didn't have much of a plot but some of the lines were good. In my version, the Madonna character (Breathless Mahoney) is called "Breakfast Mahoney." When the detective asks about her unusual name, she responds: "When I meet a man, the next thing you know, we're having breakfast together... Why do they call you Dick?" The second play was called "Blow Out the Candles," about a wealthy old tycoon (played by myself) who tests the integrity of his heirs by faking his own death. In the end, everyone dies or is abducted by aliens, it was very Shakespearean.

I graduated High School and was working as a clerk at Rent-a-Flik and moonlighting as the graveyard DJ at KZMK, a local radio station. In short, I was going nowhere fast and college seemed like a good idea. I enrolled in a community college in Thatcher, Arizona, that fall. While the distance hampered my control over TeenStage, I was committed and worked hard on writing our second show during my first semester. We planned to stage the entire production over Christmas break. I came back from school with the script in hand, to present to Paul and the company. It was titled "Full Circle: the dream exhibition" and was as pretentious as this suggested. It was my first drama consisting of loosely connected scenes presented as "dreams." These included a section in which mental patients reenact the crucifixion. I had a different sensibility now that I was in college and it contributed greatly to the demise of our little group. We had several favorable reviews in the Herald, and I had even received an award of "Outstanding achievement" from the governor, Rose Mofford, for being the youngest theatrical producer in Arizona. Or something like that, I don't quite remember. "Full Circle" was the last production I did with TeenStage. Many of the actors went on to win Speech and Debate competitions, using monologues from my script, and that made me very proud.

But I had set my sights on conquering a new stage in life and I turned my attention to the theater department of my new school. Auditions for the first show, a student written piece by the current "It" boy of the department, Sean*, landed me the role of a waiter. I had three lines. But as rehearsals began, Sean expanded my role as waiter and wrote another character for me into the second act. I ended up stealing the show. I was a thief. Little did I know what Sean would steal from me in my own second act.
TO BE CONTINUED...

A Star Is Bored (part three)

The year was 1985 and the neighborhood boys were obsessed with Dungeons & Dragons. This kind of role-playing was inferior to me, because I was an actor. But, I was obsessed with the neighborhood boys, so I played. I was also hung up on decorating my walls with posters and pages from Teen Bop. I was careful to hide my collection of C. Thomas Howell photographs from my mother. I remember her remarking on my heavily adorned walls. "Who are all these girls?" she asked.

"Those girls are Madonna!" I replied, annoyed that she was unable to recognize the female who had become her rival for the role of most important woman in my life. My favorite quote from this time came from my mother, who happened through the living room whilst I was watching a new channel called MTV. They showed music videos and this particular video was Toni Basil's "Mickey." Mom watched for a moment and then said: "That woman is older than I am!"

That fall I entered high school and looked forward to the anonymity it promised. We lived in a town adjacent to a military base, so all the army brats went to school with us civilians. There were about 3000 students and the school sprawled over two separate campuses. Freshman year, my schedule was East, West, East, West, East, West, etc. I had ten minutes between classes to go to my locker (East Campus), get my books and scurry off to my next class. It was exhausting. Almost all of my favorite classes were on West Campus, drama, art and choir. Also, WC had a better library. Every year there were two major productions put on by the school, a musical and a variety show written by the students. The musicals were usually very pedestrian, "Oklahoma" Eew!

The drama teacher was named Mamie W. and she was a grand dame. There was a rumor that Mamie had been on "General Hospital" or some other such soap, back in the day. I adored her because she was always put together perfectly. Her wardrobe was exquisite, smart pastel suits with matching jewelry and she wore high heels every single day. Compared to her, other teachers looked like....teachers. Mamie looked like a star. She took notice of me early on and suggested that I read the books in her "drama library", which I did. That when I learned about Stanislavski and the "Method." She also cultivated my writing and by my senior year, I was put in charge on writing the variety show, On Stage. The theme was "world music" which was retarded because it meant the band knew a lot of songs with geographical references, like "Kokomo" and "La Isla Bonita." It was my job to tie this altogether in some kind of amusing narrative. I took my inspiration from entertainment news shows and even managed to work myself into two different roles, the anchorman and a female reporter blatantly ripped off from Tootsie. I said "tits" in a school play and got away with it.

I was also heavily involved with Limelight and doing all kinds of shows with them outside of school. This is where I really got to experiment and explore. I was allowed to direct plays and I had developed a fondness for Tennessee Williams. I directed and starred in a version of "The Glass Menagerie" at Limelight, among other things. I had also developed a friendship with a boy named Paul, who had many similar interests. We both loved Depeche Mode and owned keyboards, so naturally, we started a band. We played one official "gig"- a Mary Kay convention at the local Holiday Inn. I have no idea what those middle-aged ladies in pink thought of our little band, which consisted of three boys playing keyboards while brooding and a girl singer who fancied herself as a young Madonna. It was a mess. Paul and I decided that we should stick to theater and incorporate the "band" into our productions. Thus, we started our own theater group, TeenStage.
TO BE CONTINUED...

A Star Is Bored (part two)

By this time, I was fully committed to the idea of running away and joining the circus. I tried many times to telepathically contact a young Eastern European trapeze artist I had read about in the library. I found the notion of wearing tights and making a living, very appealing. There was no response.

Back in Arizona, I found myself in a junior high school locker room. Here, there was no Xanadu escape clause, I would endure the horror of dressing, undressing, sweating and showering with boys, roughly my age. I say roughly because of the curious nature of sexual development at this age. Some were still boys, others were men... One of these men was Chad.

Chad's locker was next to mine, an unfortunate side effect of the alphabet, and this made for a very uncomfortable circumstance. I was an average twelve year old. Chad was a hairy giant, towering over the rest of us like a peacock in his prime. I don't know how it happened, exactly, but Chad appointed me his "butler," which meant that I took his clothes from him as he undressed, folded them and placed them neatly in his locker. Then I handed him his Phys. Ed. clothes. This was repeated after class, with the addition of being his towel boy, and in all cases, his naked, fully mature body was displayed uncomfortably close.

I guess I didn't mind this submissive role, because I played it for two years. It was torture. It brought unwanted attention to me in the place I wanted most to be invisible. The payoff was that Chad was not only my "master" but my bodyguard, as well. No one would dare mess with Chad's butler! This meant I only had to "please" my master. But my protector was also my greatest nemesis. If he was angry, I would feel the wrath of his cruelty. He would suggest that I suck his dick, in front of everyone. Sometimes he would shove his sweaty underwear in my face. He would punch me, almost daily. I was desperately attracted to him and passionately hated him. I wished that Chad would die. I needed an escape, big time.

That's when I began my acting career, studying the dramatic arts with Mrs. Clark in Room 202. I switched my junior high "major" from Journalism to Drama, half-way through the year and was soon cast a the lead in a play. I found it incredibly easy to become someone else. To play out the problems and emotions of a character, was ridiculously easy for me. The attention being on stage brought to me was better than the infamy I already had as "butler" to the school stud. If people were going to notice me, then I would give them something to talk about.

I heard about a new theater group for kids that was holding auditions. I begged my mother to take me and she reluctantly agreed. The play was called "Cinderella Rock" and was a reimagined version of the fairy tale set in the fifties and utilized classic rock and roll songs. It was a musical and I was ready for the challenge. I was cast as Cinderella's father, a role I didn't remember from other versions of the story. I had one song to sing: "Chantilly Lace." Now, my memory here is fuzzy. Why would Cinderella's father sing her a song that proclaims "ooh baby, that's what I like"? The play was stupid. But it was my first real role in a show that people actually paid to see. It was official. I was a starlet.

The theater group, Limelight, became a regular thing for me, as well as my participation in school plays. I was always busy being someone. I looked forward to high school, where I could take Drama with a teacher who, rumor was, had actually been on "General Hospital!" Graduation approached and so did "prom", though at the eighth grade level, it was a sorry event. Chad was named Prom King. I skipped the event altogether, I think I had rehearsal that night. In my yearbook, Chad wrote: You've been a great "butler" and a cool friend. I'll ring you up and we'll go PARTY! Laters, Chad. He never called and that fall, as we entered our freshman year, I learned that Chad had indeed partied over the summer. Lots of high school kids liked to drive to AP (Agua Prieta) across the border in Mexico, to drink and party. Chad was decapitated in a car accident coming back from AP. He was fourteen. I got my wish and I was free.
TO BE CONTINUED...

A Star Is Bored (part one)

Albee was right, you know... And not just for outing Liz Taylor as fat fucking pig... He was right about the jazz of special hotels, American dreams and the horror of being alive. I have lived in that world. I suffered with the best of them in my time, my timespace, my dream place...

Yes, I was an actor. And good, too. Really good. Award-winning, in fact. I was the best damn actor to ever walk on stage- in Arizona. Eastern, Southern, South-New Western, I played all the best stages, auditoriums and bars the desert had to offer. I was somebody.

It all started, oddly enough, in New Mexico. My father was a miner, working for Phelps Dodge, "PD" we called it. I was eight years old when PD transferred Dad to a mine in Tyrone, New Mexico. Tyrone was this shithole little town created by PD to house the workers. They built it on a hill and the most important employees lived at the top. We lived towards the bottom. It was all the same to me, I was much closer to the bus stop. I joined a new school, named after some astronaut, in a neighboring town and was excited to be starting over. Of course, I was humiliated almost immediately when I peed all over the floor of the band room. To redeem myself, I signed up to be in the school pageant. This was like a talent show, but highly choreographed by the art faculty... No one was allowed to shine solo. We were broken into groups, by age, and then rehearsed for weeks, our given "numbers".

I was in two of these spectacles- "Music Box Dancer", for which I had to make my own wig. I remember my Mothers face when I came home from school one day and asked for a pair of her pantyhose and some red yarn. I was playing one of many Raggedy Andys... (A recurring theme..) I liked my costume a lot and found that wearing a wig, even one made of red yarn, came quite naturally. My favorite part of this particular character was the fact that I got to wear MAKEUP! Red, rosy cheeks. I was a gorgeous Raggedy Doll. Dancing with my classmates to the gayest song ever! But wait, there is my Second Number.... "Macho Man" by the Village People. (It was the Seventies!) All the boys strutted around in jeans and tee-shirts ala "Grease"...I wanted a pack of cigarettes to roll into my sleeve but Mom said No. We settled on a bar of soap. It had the same effect, but still, you can't smoke soap. "Hey Kid, you look real tough, but you smell so clean!" That was the high point of my year.

I remember getting really good at climbing trees. For me, the recess bell signified war. Specifically, war on me. So, I made like a monkey and headed for higher ground. Sometimes I would have to climb really high to get out of "rock range" and then I would be late for class because I was too scared to climb down. Class was just as bad. The teacher separated my desk from the rest of the class. I sat literally under the chalkboard about two feet from the teacher. On the other side was a girl with that funky skin disorder that made her look like a pink and brown cow. Her name was Lea and she sat up front to be protected, like me. My problems had more to do with bodily functions, mucus membranes, stuff like that. I was a special kid.

I guess there were enough "special" kids to warrant what happened next. As an "alternative" to physical education class, which played like recess, only, the violence was teacher supervised, some of us were given to option to rollerskate on the high school tennis courts, next door. This was a dream come true for me. I already had skates but lacked the elbow and knee pads required for the "class"- pads were expensive, but Mom saved the day by making some out of old jeans and elastic. I had denim protection and I was in. Having seen "Xanadu" and proclaiming it to be the greatest film ever made, I became the darling of the roller-skating special kids. I was a miniature tornado on wheels. I was a star.

Then Dad got a couple fingertips chopped off in a pulley mishap at the mine and suddenly we had enough money to move back to Arizona. It was a few years before I made my real debut as an actor. But the seeds had been planted. Many seeds actually. And it was only a matter of time before those trees bore fruit.
TO BE CONTINUED...

All You Need

John and Paul said: Love is all you need. But, for me, it's a bath.

Soaking in a tub, breathing in the aromatherapy crystals, saturating my epidermis in liquidy perfection. Ahh.... It must have been a glorious day when humans first discovered the bath, having learned hygiene (among other things) from watching animals. "Fuck licking myself," thought the caveman. "I'm going in that body of water over there!" And history was made. Humans began to frolic in lakes, rivers, streams and even the ocean. Later, someone claimed a waterfall as an alternative form of hygiene, but nothing beats submerging in a bath.

As a child, I would spend what seemed like hours in the tub. Fighting epic battles, defeating horrible sea-monsters, generally making waves...Now I can only stay in for short intervals. Toys have been replaced with a loofa and my favorite Tea Tree Oil Soap. I consider John Frieda a personal hero. Oh, how I do cherish those precious moments. Cleaning. Preening. It's very true. A bath is all you need.

Even Tyler Durden likes to bathe, after a hard day in the Fight Club. Oh, yeah...the first rule... Anyway, I don't think it's emasculating to admit to bathing. Admitting to a fondness for bubbles may, in fact, damage your reputation as a macho man. But since I have no such reputation, I embrace them. Thousands of millions of tiny universes, popping and floating about. And there I am, a giant in the center of it all. Alright, sometimes I still play in the tub. But mostly, I try not to think about the movie "Altered States."

I'm a water sign, Cancer. (I feel, I feel...) So, it's important for me to have water based rituals, like bathing. And tea. I have a fabulous new teapot and I use it every day. I have recently become fond of black teas, chai or otherwise. There is a Vanilla that blows my mind. And of course, I adore green teas of all kinds. For my birthday, my mother and sister got me some loose leaf teas from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. I love them. I love waiting for the kettle to whistle, I love steeping the leaves, and I love sipping the finished product.

I guess a bath isn't all I need, but it's definitely on the list. Ooh, a list! Good one...

WHY WATER RULES

• it makes up a large part of the planet
  
• it makes up a large part of my body
  
• it usually has no taste
  
• it is useful in dishwashing
  
• it is temperature sensitive (like me)
  
• it's wet
  

Hmmm... kind of a stupid list. I should just end this before I go into my whole thing about ice...
Wet you later.

In Search of Nirvana

Transmission: A4T-7Q5
Received: Calif.NoHol 3:33pm 15.09.05
Source: Vector 9, Omega System, pt. 72-x
Text, as follows:

Greetings!

Space is a grand and lonely place. While the views are spectacular, it is the silence that bewitches me. Mountainous voids of indescribable serenity. One could easily get lost inside the nothingness, a most dangerous proposition, especially on this particular mission.

As you know, we set out almost fifteen years ago, in search of Nirvana. We have come fearfully close on many occasions and I hope we never find it. Oblivion. Bliss. Annihilation of the Soul. Who needs it? Certainly, not I. Since the strange disappearance of our beloved Captain Kurt, we have been under the heavy rule of Commander Love. The irony astounds me. She has guided our vessel into more blackholes than one ever thought existed. Now it seems, we are lost. Floating in space. She has locked herself away again and the crew is beginning to question her authority.

Recently, CL proclaimed herself the "center of the universe" and then flopped around on the floor, growling and managing to, somehow, free herself from her panties. The crew was shocked, it took almost seven hours before anyone was able to form a thought. That's when I decided to intercept this satellite feed, connected to a "blog" on earth. Since the Commander has cut off all forms of communication with ground control, this may be our only hope. We are desperate with desire and in no way capable of attaining Nirvana. Please, guide us back to Earth, back to sanity and soon. I fear time is running out. It may be<
?<>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
END OF TRANSMISSION

Trust Overfull & the Beasts of Burden

I reek of genius.

It drips from every fiber of my being and there is absolutely no thing I can do to stop it. Brilliance has infected me and I am powerless to dissuade it. What, now, shall become of my precious excuses? Cultivated, so lovingly, over the years of my life. My reasons Not To, annihilated by this fiend of modern savant that, alas, I have become. Woe is me!

And this, Sir, I tell you is no joke! I awoke this morning to a new world. The same earthly features surround me, but the world, I say, is not the same. Changed, somehow, while I slept and dreamt of fantastic escapes from the clutches of mediocrity.

My life, I fear, will never be the same and now I know that it cannot! For I taste with a new tongue and I am lost in the deliciousness!

This is but a seed from which a tree will grow and the apple that falls from its branches will change the world in ways Isaac never dreamt of!

In other news, dearest Holly has sent me a most marvelous message, derived from the Nietzsche. I reproduce it here without permission:

"O you loving fool, Zarathustra, you are trust-overfull. But then you have always been: you have always approached everything terrible trustfully. You have wanted to pet every monster. A whiff of warm breath, a little soft tuft on the paw--and at once you were ready to love and to lure it.
Love is the danger of the loneliest; love of everything if only it is alive. Laughable, verily, are my folly and my modesty in love."

"That reminds me of you," said Holly. And she is, as always, right. It reminds her of me because it IS me, continually seeking the great Grendel's affections. Ah! She knows me too well, for a sucker of soft tufts am I! Why, this very day, as I crossed Sunset Boulevard, a gentleman shepherding an Expedition called out to me: "Soft Tuft-Sucker!"

"And a good day to you, too, Sir! May Jesus fuck your Mother in the ass!" Then the light changed, as it always does in these situations, and he was gone. It was just as well, as I had forgotten to wear my fighting shoes today. The prance of manhood carries on.

What should have been another "Long Day" was over before I knew it and now I see that I control Time, as well. Of course, there was the terrible story of a young man, who in the depths of a cleansing fast, found himself shitting out his insides and was shuttled off to a hospital where they removed a thirty foot parasite from his ass. Most distrurbing, if I do say so myself. Chances are, apparently very good, that we ALL have some little beasts of burden feasting off of our internal universe. I am confident that if one ever emerges from within me, I will be able to bait it out and not endure the horror of seeing in scurry back inside, never to be seen again.

To Monsters!
So be it.

Must Marry Mortals

Chief Justice William Rehnquist is dead. Normally, I would not find this news worthy of mentioning. But I was curious about those gold stripes he had on his robe, so I did a little research.

In 1882, Gilbert and Sullivan staged on operetta called "Iolanthe, or the Peer and the Peri", I am assuming Judge Rehnquist was there at the time. Iolanthe is all about fairies. In this story there is also a judge, a Lord Chancellor, who decrees that fairies must marry mortals. Interesting...

Now, Willie is so impressed with this Lord Chancellor (and his costume) that he has his Supreme Court robe altered to resemble the character. This is a man in one of the most powerful positions in the country. Just a little food for thought. The hoopla surrounding "gay marriage" in the nation seems completely retarded to me. There are much bigger issues to freak out about than whether Adam and Steve should get a tax break. As a fairy myself, I have no marriage plans as of yet, but I would like my options left open. What mythical creature doesn't? The way things are right now, it seems I live in a land where I am forced to settle on mortal marriage. No, thank you.

I have never been much of a role model in the relationship department and that suits me just fine. Romantic entanglements are just that - Entanglements. They interrupt my energetic flow in ways that I can't seem to control and I am better off without them. Because of the various complications and intricacies within my being, anyone wishing to woo me would have to possess magical powers and a mere mortal, I am afraid, would not be up to the challenge. Don't get me wrong, at times, I do crave the affections of another but I am aware that those feelings are transitory. What I do not have, I do not need.

For instance, I do not have to symbolically alter my official uniform.
I do not have to listen to judgments from persons who are insane.
And I do not have compassion for those who choose ignorance.

It is not bliss, and I don't need it.

Long Day

It's 10:00pm and I just got home from work. It was a long day that was lengthened by someone's genius suggestion that instead of a coffee run - "How about margaritas?" Since I am working for a predominately Hispanic production company, this idea was not immediately poo-pooed but enthusiastically embraced. The next thing I know, I am handed a salty concoction to fuel the late hours that lay ahead. I thought about pulling the "Oh, I don't drink" card that I proudly carry, then I accepted. That's big. Acceptance of my reality is a huge issue for me as I have not been so great at "rolling with it." So, there I am, working and drinking and talking too loud. It was sort of fun. And also a great opportunity to bond with some of the new people I find myself working with.

The is a certain cultural thing that I am having to adapt to. It seems to involve a different sense of TIME... I realize that I have divided my identity according to time. It's all about integration for me, right now. I think that the schizophrenic nature of my psyche has confused my body, my mind, my reality, my universal perception, etc. My massively conflicting belief systems have manifested a situational comedy in which I am the star. And the key word here is COMEDY. I have operated for a very long time under the assumption that I was in a Shakespearian tale of angst. Not true.

Yeah, so this is all very deep and fuzzy because, through a margarita haze, I am a deep and fuzzy guy right now.
Everyday is like being at Magic Mountain.
Everyday is a beautiful new opportunity to risk it all and ride the biggest, meanest roller coaster around...
Myself.

And now, a poem:

I have been the author
of a life lived in the dark
and the memory I offer
is the feeling that is sparked
when it all comes together
and then just falls apart.
Though I write with a feather,
I'm as subtle as a fart.