One of the hardest things in life is waiting while still maintaining some artistic swagger. Trying to squeeze out a play while it’s still in its second trimester. To fill those holding patterns while burning fuel over the skies of Manhattan, is Netflix and the occasional in-flight drama, like what happened with my birth father and his wife. Or didn’t happen; or may have happened in alternate universe where I’m a lot dumber than I am in this one. As it’s late and I don’t want to bullrush a punchline, I’ll embellish more when I don’t need to be in bed so I can dream about Christina Hendricks, which I did last night and thank you subconscious;
I’m on OKCupid; I’ve never been a match.com/dating site connoisseur; the trend now is questions; a whole list of questions about things and stuff and what you would do when encountered with certain things and what you think about stuff; one asks to describe the first thing people notice about me; to be honest, I don’t want to know; how can I know? every person that sees me on the street probably noticed my hair before it was shorn to 11th grade; how the hell am I supposed to know the very first thing people notice about me? It’s a peculiar question and at the end of life when I’m in front of my cosmic steering committee going through life notes, the answer might be ‘you remind people of a semicolon.” That could be it; I fucking knew it! I knew it. That explains why so much of my life felt complete yet still with little wicked clips of longing, like a sentence that ends in a semi-colon;
This weekend I am in a show where I get to wear a wig; a giant afro that makes me look like a counter counter love-a-lutionary from 1977; the wig has magic powers and hopefully this weekend the wig will split open the time space continuum and I’ll see myself winning the Oscar where I will thank the wig; and I’ll also thank Satan. And Jesus. And all their contractors; maybe they’re all hanging out playing Intellivision in a shack in the Ozarks.
In the meantime, wait and pace and wait and pace and wonder why limbo was invented since it seems hotter than hell at times; you have to sit and wait until whatever needs to come boiling out comes boiling out and every cell is ready.
My penis says ‘hey’ and ‘waiting for you, Sheila-loo; make a right turn at thirty and you’ll know what to do.’
‘There is a magic in life where, once evry cell is committed to a path that is purely from the heart, you begin to meet the people and have the experiences that will catapult you, hurdle you joyfully down that new path. A fragrant serendipity that saturates every area of your life. That is what I fill my imagination with now’.
