I’m sitting here eating a NYC bachelor’s dinner: sabra hummus with genetically engineered Dole carrots. If I eat enough I imagine I’ll spontaneously give birth to a crack baby made out of carrots while I’m sleeping but being genetically engineered, the crack baby will crawl to the end of the bed and die and fall to the floor where my dog will eat it since she is completely addicted to baby carrots and the symbolism will be to much for my dog. She will eat the crack baby made of carrots and then throw it up and do what all dogs do and eat the vomit. I’ll wake up with a strange genetically modified form of emptiness; then I’ll sprout another head. When I walk through a grocery store and actually look at the stuff called food I have no doubt cancer will be in business for the next hundred years. It’s hard not to eat crap when it’s so available and the world practically dares you to eat it. Every time I see a new Dunkin Donuts or Uncle Hottie’s BBQ Gut Destroyer Rib Joint open, I can’t help and think we’re moving a little backwards in evolution. But it’s better than another bank.
It seems I need a fear poker swimming somewhere around my sphincter in order to move forward in certain areas because I can jostle between being very lazy and exceptionally motivated which has been as miscast as Johnny Depp going to play Tonto as manic depressive or bipolar. Now it’s slid over to lazy and focused. I am evolving beyond the lonely halls of the DSM IV. The fear here I create is unemployment and homelessness and when I used to prep my Oscar speech now I edit it to use on the subway to beg for money; they’re really not that much different. For now, I am drive, getting driven and like all artists there’s about fifteen things I want to do right now, mentenant! As I’ve stated before. it has been such a lonesome streak if I knew it would have been this much aching and solitude I’d a taken a life as a squid on Saturn. I live in a hipster type neighborhood here in Brooklyn and when I look around everyone it seems like a college campus. I feel like another species at times and I look in t he mirror to make sure I don’t turn into a talking plant or a werewolf, though as I said, the moon moves inside me like Loch ness. When I walk around at night and I see couples hold hands, sometimes it’s a bit hard to take because I know I’ve had my time in the twenties, not so glorious as in the brochure, and now when I know what I want it becomes harder to find; aiming for the top of the pyramid where there’s only room for one, not fifty. I am moving towards something and fear of staying where I am in certain areas of my life is fine. The worst people we have in our life are our best guardians in disguise; they push us, they kill us, we rise again like a mountain full of sunrises and thank them later when they’re seven hundred miles in the rear view mirror. Right now there is someone in my life and this person feeds darkness and suffocation like she owns a warehouse for Overstock.com. There isn’t much I can do about it except push myself to move ahead so I do, I let my guardian dressed as Satan’s barber prod me in the ass until I feel burned enough to scream. Unhappy people are a quiet epidemic because they murmur their blues; quiet deaths are the bloodsong of the lost.
So tonight I get ready to send reels out, the best I’ve ever made and marvel at where my life has twisted and yawed to this point. I have no idea where I spent my first forty five days on Earth (I’m adopted). At two, I had two imaginary friends and I hated one of them. That’s already a dose. We’ll talk more about the rest as time unfolds either like a nice homemade American flag or like a dead snake.