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Walking home from the Cocoa Bar, my new favorite cafe spot in Brooklyn, feeling the lyrics to Thelonius Monk ‘Round Midnight’ starting to assert themselves as certain hours of the dark are like markers for moods of the soul; midnight blues can really lay into you but if you’re still up at three am it get can pretty sacred around these parts;  it’s a monastic holy time, is three AM so I try to make it three AM at midnight as often as possible;

I started looking at my solo material and when that happens, something flips on, engines two three and four fire up and suddenly my brain starts moving so fast I don’t even see 12 or 3, light or dark. My synapses, laying around like fireman waiting for action, light up and let it rip to the pore of my skin which look like little heated melted rainbow springs from the view of my third eye. The challenge has always been what I am, comedian, poet, something undefined? I’ve never been quite able to find a home where at least one my creative heads doesn’t feel like a bag’s been popped over its head. So I’ll figure it out now, right now.  It’s also easy for me to get hooked on tangents. I love tangents. Start off trying to talk about adoption and end up chatting about fruitcakes for ten minutes; because a fruitcake is like adoption, maybe to someone drinking Glidden paint out of a trash can somewhere.  It’s good to rock the neurons.  Now to organize and find a place to stretch the gams.  Time to unite all fronts into one Ohm, one electrified Ohm.

Just got an email from the Zeitgeist movement. I watched their first film. I have to be honest in that something seems a little off about it;  something sterile, almost a fear of being human; I guess I like cowboy dirt and a good bit of struggle.  This idea of replacing alchemy with chemistry is like eating an idea of chocolate peanut butter pie instead of chocolate peanut butter pie.  Sterility is not my bag.  It’s like if a modern bank lobby could talk, it would come up with some of that stuff.  There were some intelligent things in the film but my sperm curled up and said ‘Nay!’ Connecticut says ‘Nay!’ I played Roger Sherman from Connecticut, yes that Roger Sherman, the one that bowl a forthwith and suck pudding through a rolled up copy of the Declaration of Independence, that one — in the musical version of 1776. I wore a wig, tights and a lot of velvet. And I drank like Roger Sherman, too, during that run. It makes me wonder how many of those who signed that Declaration were hung over and just approved so they could go home and sleep off their headache.  Only one dude write it but everybody signed it. Easy gig.  Not much has changed in Congress besides the lack of a genius swirl that existed back in 1776. Ca souffit pour mentenant.

I’ve been watching Pan Am and I have two observations: 1) I would physically have sex with the plane itself.  That 707 is sexy and clean and has nicer furniture than I have in my apartment. I know there’s a term for people who actually have sex with cars. I’ll find out and invent one for planes.  2) Colette!  More Colette and Je suis l’homme pour vous! Yes, I mean ‘je suis’! I sent my reel to the CD of the show and hope they are charmed by the love dust I sprinkled on my headshot.  Get me on the show and I will romance you Colette with my knowledge of 80’s TV and astrology.  She seems to be hooked on the pilot. You can do better! Moi!  Would he actually have sex with the plane? Ask yourself Colette.

I always mean to write a few lines but end up with, well, a blog.

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