Chewtoy of the Gods

I've been sick.

I don't mean in a carve-up-puppies-for-Halloween way, either. I have been put in my place by my allergies. This was a full-on assault on my body, though I tried in vain to continue my meager workout routine, my little body finally gave in and I was forced to submit. I stayed home crying and moping about for the last two days. Though I do feel better today, I am skeptical about the prospect of feeling like conquering the world anytime soon.

This always seems to happen when I have been working for a while. Suddenly, I have some time off and my body thinks it's being clever by taking advantage of the opportunity to kick my ass. I always say it is allergies, even if it's not. I don't like the idea of a viral infection one bit. Some nasty ass little germ traveling from someone's grody lungs into the air and finally being swallowed up into mine, that disgusts me. I much prefer the idea of some nasty ass little germ traveling from a mold spore or a freaking flower, into me. Don't ask me why...

So, having spent several days as a chewtoy of the gods, I am now ready to fight back. I emerged from my bed (after 12 quality hours, thank you Cherry NyQuil!) to find that the day is not so fucking ugly and I need to feel better. Perhaps I may even do a little yoga or some such activity... I certainly hope that the worst of it is over. I am a mean sick person. Anyway, here is a little word problem for you:

If I had a monkey and you were allergic to it, I would probably not get rid of it. I just wouldn't date you because monkeys are expensive. But I don't have a monkey, so what's the fucking problem?

Get On The SHORTBUS

By all means, you have to see John Cameron Mitchell's new film, Shortbus. It's an exhilarating cinematic experience exploring sexuality, love and life. Set in post 9/11 New York, mostly unknown actors (the best kind) engage in graphic sex scenes that help tell the story of their characters. It's an astonishingly beautiful film, intimate and engaging. I highly recommend it.



I love JCM's Hedwig & The Angry Inch and was more than a little worried that he planned to follow it up with "The Sex Film Project", as it was known for the last several years. But Mitchell delivers the goods here. It is explicit, but not in a titillating way, you become invested in the characters and the journey they are on. I can't really articulate exactly what I think of the film quite yet... In some ways, I feel like I have never seen a movie before in my life. I have definitely not seen anything like this before and it excites me to think about the ways this film will alter the cinematic landscape in years to come. In an age where people are obsessed with reality shows that are unrealistic, I think that the impact of Shortbus will be huge. Rarely are films so heartbreakingly funny and truthful. It moved me. It made me what to be one of the "special" kids. It made me want to ride the shortbus, all the way home...

COLD

"If you want to move someone else as an artist, you must be truly moved by what it is you're writing. But you must keep exploiting that emotion in yourself, over and over and over again, until you become completely cold about it." - Truman Capote

Just be careful not to freeze, Truman. Is that the lesson? Sometimes love doesn't mean what it's supposed to. I feel cold today. Maybe I will go to the gym and contemplate better bodies, run the wheel like a good pet and finally submit myself for rejection, yet again. What was the point of it all? Oh, yeah, we wanted to be puppetmasters. We thought it would be cool to have these great, elaborately constructed toys to play with. Control. Corrupt. Consider. I have been careless in the past, but it's not going to stop me from fucking up the future. I don't need very much to get by. I don't need anything at all... It's just this damn air I keep breathing and the sweet smell of humility. Don't you want me, baby?

I am good at exploiting many things. I am not sure that my own emotions fall under the banner of "many things." How can I pretend to understand something that I cannot name? The body had no identifying marks, no tell-tale signs of personal history or DNA to be decoded. It was simply cold. Still life and such. No... I am not a marksman for the ages. I am only here forever, this short time... And I knew, going in, that it wasn't going to be pretty. It was that challenge, in and of itself, that provoked me into action. Reaction. Retraction. Realization. Could it have been different if I had lied? Or at least told a better truth? More bitter blues from the peanut gallery, and black is the new black. Cold is the new season. Love is the new death. This is the new me.

Forget it then, pretend I never said anything. Exploit this, if you must, but know in your heart, that this is all my fault. Yeah, I have a flair for drama, but you need to break my heart to really appreciate the depths of my talents. I left them weeping in Tucson, because, in the end, it was simply too fucking hot there and I have always relied on the temperature to tell me my mood. Tell me, is it raining with you?

Blood and Roses

I've seriously had a lot of trouble thinking of things to blog about that aren't completely repulsive. Those of you who come here often can tell that I've been more than a little artistically constipated and the excuses I have are lacking in authenticity. Yeah, I've been desperately busy with work and even started dating again, but no one gives a shit about work and the dating thing... Well, let's just say, I don't want to say something that I will regret later.

So, here it is: I always seem to have the good fortune of knowing when my female employees are menstruating. They always work it into conversation, by way of an "excuse" for their absent-mindedness or lack of enthusiasm. I don't particularly care to know that the reason you were late was because you were bleeding like a stuck pig in the bathroom for a half an hour this morning. I understand that this is something that is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of, but do I have to hear about it? Apparently, I do. Personally, if I am in the bathroom for more than two minutes, call an ambulance...

Tribal Instincts

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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.
SO

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.

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?

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.

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.