I-I-I-I've been through some things please don't hold that against me. Can't nobody love you like I'm gonna love you. Even though I-I-I still can feel a sting. No need to second-guess me.
See I-I-I-I-I-I don't mind you putting up a little bit of fight. It's all right, but why run from what's gon' hold you tight through any complications, baby. Maybe we can start tonight.
Hey! I saw the dirty looks you gave me. Don't care what your ex do... And if you dare (DON'T DARE) send me straight to voicemail. Babe, I'm just gon' text you. Hope it ain't no issue. I've just got to let you know: NO ONE'S GON' LOVE YOU. (Period, bitch.)
I put that on every thang!
But if you should go down that same road you've been before. You're in reverse. Your pain rehearsed. Just brace yourself for the blow. Don't you know that you could JUSTlet it go?
Don't you know that I'm making you this promise clutching on a rosary!
Living in the fast lane. See ya when ya crash, babe.
Ah, mortality truly breeds psychotherapy.
In addition to the both of us being born in '75, I feel a great deal of connection with Carl. What's 100 years among friends? He was a free-thinker unafraid to question, yet embraced religion, which requires blind faith. Then again, the single most compelling scene in Life of Pi involves the line, "Thank you Vishnu for introducing me to Christ." An interesting life is a life marked by all kinds of experiences. I was raised Christian (have since disavowed religion), am drawn to the serenity of buddhism yet value the teachings of Marx. I get that Marxism is a sociopolitical ideology rather than a spiritual path, but I think that makes it all the more applicable.
I'm feeling very "Is That All There Is" about life in general these days. It's cool. It's just that we've all been doing the same shit and having the same issues since before Jesus. "Abraham begat Isaac; Isaac begat Jacob; Jacob begat Judas; and Judas became a very popular hit for Lady Gaga."So on and so on and so on...Even though humanity's tech advancements over the past 1,000 years are undeniably AWESOME, our basic need for society with all of its highly dramatic ordinariness is exactly the same. The incongruity of smart phones and bustles is of no consequence. Society ain't changed! Shakespeare isn't popular for his thematic originality; his works are renowned for reminding us that, once again, ain't shit changed.
With that in mind, there are a few historical figures, in addition to Carl J. and Jesus, with whom I'd love to have a year-long hedonistic, cannabis-fueled, philosophical brunch to discuss EVERYTHING from how exactly silk gets from the worm to a $3,000 sweater to bareback anal orgasms. Siddhartha, Picasso, Duke Ellington, Vermeer (Why so dark, bitch? I love it, though ~ Kisses), Gore Vidal, Mozart and Prince (what happens when you meet a Reincarnation of yourself?), B. Marley (presumably big dick AND weed?), Bayard Rustin and Rudolf Nuryev (hoes).
What type of personalities would they all have? What would their twitter hash tags be? Or their Radical Faerie names? Jesus strikes me as a Middle Eastern, gluten-free, vegan DJ type who'd never bring anything but BO to potluck, but would eat up all your damn hummus and corn chips and smoke up all your shit. (Damn. I'm a lot like Jesus. My mother will be proud to finally hear this.) Jesus' ass would keep getting invited though because he'd be ripped from all that skateboarding, hung to his thigh and conveniently "live and let live" in his views on sexuality. #lunchmilk(ing).
Shut up, Luke Bryan. (Sorry. Watching Ellen.)
I also imagine Gandhi to be the flamboyant perv friend who's always getting misquoted. What he probably said was "you've got to be the dick you want to receive in this world." Truer words, brother. Truer words.
I watched Idiocracy yet again this morning. If, after the movie, you've still got a little hope left for the future, please read Super Sad True Love Story: A Novel. That'll knock it right outta ya. We're all gonna die and not necessarily young, or even Jung for that matter. But it's gonna happen. Before it does, though, we'll have ever higher tech gadgets that make us exponentially dumber. But hey, at least we'll all be pretty, young and biologically engineered for eternal perfection with a libido that gets stronger with age. I guess I can live with that. What could possibly go wrong? (Logan's Run, Gattaca, The Third Reich, Brazil the movie!)
Still, there's the bright side. I remember the product tagline, "you can't add more years to your life, but you can add more life to your years." Perfect. I am comforted by this. It's all going to end some day, somehow, no matter what. So let's enjoy this shit. I don't mind the idea of extending my life an extra 50 or 100 years beyond expectancy, but not at the expense of looking...old! I only want this if I can actually be 150 and still look 35. But getting older just to have more and longer-lasting health problems? Pass. I'm a firm believer that a healthy sex life is an important part of staying young. I know. Surprise. Or to put it a simpler way: Fucking is the best way to stay fuckable. I mentioned it here way back, but my sexual connection with the energy worker in Montreal CHANGED MY LIFE! Not to pop my own sexual collar, but (((POP))) sometimes even the shaman has to go for a tune up. Two words: Bubble. Butt. Two more words: All. Night. "New world needs spi-ri-tu-a-li-ty that will last. I've seen the future..." And I nutted in it.
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Boy, you'll be the death of me. You're my James Dean. You make me feel like I'm seventeen. Drive too fast; smoke too much. But that don't mean a thing 'cuz I'm addicted to the rush. And I'd rather die young than live my life without you.
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Why is age more than a number when it comes to love? Should we ask the ones who speculate when they don't know what it's made of? Should we ask the moon light on your face or the rain drops in your hair? Or should we ask the man who wrote it there in the Morning Papers?
Not so fast, Pluto. Apparently, the International Astronautical Union isn't that different from the entertainment industry: In today, auf wiedersehen later today. Or, in your case Plutes, almost 80 years later, but oh well. For the last several weeks I've been taking a self-guided crash course in planets vs stars. As to the why of doing this, all I can say is that should the process of thermonuclear fusion and/or the function of a Hertzsprung-Russell diagram randomly fall into conversation, I'll at least be able to contribute a tiny fraction to the discussion. You know, like we do. My stream of consciousness took me from Hollywood ---> star (vs) planet...Wait a minute. Why isn't Pluto a planet anymore? -->Wikipedia! Naturally. It turns out that back in blah blah blah dwarf planets, satellites, asteroids rah rah rah there are now 3 major qualifications for a planet to be called a planet. And they are (drum roll please):
Is in orbit around the sun - I can dig that. Apple products continue to be the sun around which I (r)evolve. My iPhone is so beat up and sharded to death, I had someone ask me recently how do I not cut myself on the screen? It's been like this for some time, but it's getting worse (because I dropped it again). So I have to replace it sooner rather than later. But as soon as I saw the Samsung super mega phone with the 12 ft screen, I had a major case of screenus envy. But then the iPhone came out with a slightly lengthened retina display...Ugh! I hate this. It's like picking out eyewear. It takes me forever to find shades/glasses that look great. Once I do, that's it. I wear them until I lose them. But you know what? As much as I favor, say, the Verizon DNA model, I'm probably just going to get another iPhone. There's just something about the shape and feel of it that's so damned sexy. Even the box. The store. I cannot...No, I will not live without sexy products, dammit! This is America. So what if I can't send an email, watch a video, take a picture and edit a commercial all at the same time like some of the other smartphones claim they can? Who needs to do that? I'll just buy an iPad for that.
Has sufficient mass to assume* hydrostatic equilibrium (a nearly round shape) -
*You know what they say about assumptions: They jiggle when you smack 'em.
Yep. That's my ass. Despite showing it off, I LOVE having a dick and being a man. I also like communicating with other dick-havers. We have an understanding. I'm talking about more than physiology. I'm back to worshipping the notion of confidence, leadership and power. You don't have to be a man or even be masculine to exemplify these things, but it means you're an active decision maker. An equal. On the other hand, I find overly feminine energy and pussy-having issues to be way too aggravating. Example: the scene in Knocked Up when Paul Rudd's wife discovers he lied about being somewhere when he really went to the movies alone to watch Spiderman. She starts crying and says "I like Spiderman...You're mean." Hilarious to watch because it's so true and equally annoying becauseit's so true. A penis-having way of handling it would've been, okay. Well-played. You got me. I'll just be grabbing one of those personal nights as well. Why didn't I think of that shit? Done. Pass the snacks. There is no crying in baseball or relationships (aka controlling others - JUST KIDDING)!!! Please. For god's sake. Don't get me wrong. I care deeply about things and I'll give you the shirt off my back (if you have the right coordinating pieces). I don't lack feeling or emotional intelligence. It's just that, well, Effie, we all gots pain, girl. And even beyond that, I truly try to tell people the truth. I've been asked my opinion on everything from other friends' original songs, new haircuts, too small dresses, etc. My policy: Don't ask and don't ask.
On a side note, I'm surprised nobody caught the hidden sentence in last month's entry. What? You think that period was just sitting way over from the rest of the sentence because it had the flu? To illustrate how ridiculous I am about this blog, I spent way too much time matching the background of the page with the hidden letters. They can only be seen by highlighting. Yep. Way too much time on my hands.
Has cleared the neighborhood around its orbit - I was having some difficulty with this concept until the term "gravitational dominance" popped up. I don't know about clearing my neighborhood, but I can damn sure clear a packed ass bowl and not even cough. Smoking of which, I feel like Jim Carey in 23.
Current Stage Script
Where the hell was I going?
Aaand the .0 is stipulated...on "The Joint". Riiight.
NOT smokeablez...(?)
Okay, those last ones are dried apricots. But they are the perfect follow-up to 420. And of course, the follow-up to even that are mucho philosophical digressions. Last weekend, I was asked whether, in the eternal, biggest picture possible, grand scheme of things, would I choose light or darkness. See, that's the wrong question for me. I'm more Shinto about all this shit: It's about the balance. Nevertheless, my answer was simply, "whichever one gives me the dick." I know we're back to this, but having a cock lets you be able to do all sorts of cool stuff ;)
My deck right at dawn, January 2013.
Yes, I piss with serif. BLAM!
((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((this space intentionally filled))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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"We gon' take it to the moon, take it to the stars. How many people you know can take it this far? I'm supercharged. I'm 'bout to take this whole thing to Mars. Now we gon' take it to the moon, take it to the stars. You don't know what we've been through to take it this far. So many stars. We're 'bout to take this thing to Mars."
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Knock knock.
Who's there?
You know what they say about black holes?
You Know What They Say About Black Holes who?
You know what they say about black holes? They're really pink inside :-|
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I'd probably add one more requirement to the classification of planets. They can never give up. (Warning: Get your tissues BEFORE you watch this. All I had handy was my T shirt sleeve.)
January (My show)
Update: My February 16th show at Club 58 in Quincy has been moved to March 23 at the same club.
I hit you with the best stroke, freestyle and the breast stroke til you're blowing "cigarette" smoke and now the bed's broke. So what we gon' do now? Fuck it: Round 2 now. Work it out, then we cool down.
Baby, tonight's the night I let you know. Baby, tonight's the night we lose control.
Baby, tonight you need that. Tonight believe that tonight I'll be the best you ever had.
I don't wanna brag, but I'll be the best you ever had.
Listen. You ain't even gotta text me: knowing you and me got that mental telepathy. Meet me up at the spot. I'll be sending over the chauffer. Rich ni**a('s) bread stay poppin' up like a toaster.** Nobody comes close to me and you together. Step under my umbrella. We'll make it through any weather except when I make it storm. Sex in the greatest form. Hibernate under my body and yep I keep it warm. And (in a?) chinchilla (he) knows I beat it up like the Thrilla in Manila flying my private jet to villas in Anguilla then throw you on a grill that's 'cause 7 days a week you're my five course meal for real.
Actual biology aside, I think that John and I would make beautiful children. I just searched his age and found out I'm 4 years older (and an inch shorter) than he is. I'd better get started on this baby-making thing. Besides him, there are a few other sexy things I like about this video:
Luda's mirrored Martin Margielas - I fondled them in Barneys. Christmas is coming, y'all. And Christmas is about getting gifts. So I wear a size 9. I'm just fuckin' sayin. If you can't find those, I really like these, too. There are currently 222 followers on this blog. That means that if everyone puts (calculating - carry the 42...) $100 each on it, I can get them. Don't worry. I'll say thank you. "Thank you."*
John's face superimposed over hers is another lovely video feature. It's a clever way of suggesting they're fucking.
The blast of fire right before the second verse is cool. It's representative of what the video director knew we were going to be feeling in our pants and shirts (if you have titties. I don't know. Do titties get hot or warm? I mean, I know they get cold. Who cares? People with titties I guess.)
Seeing him in a suit is also very sexy. ZZ Top said it best, but it's not just the girls who are crazy for a well-dressed dude. Sartorially, Pitbull nails it every time, too. His slim fit pants show off that fat Cuban dick perfectly. If you don't believe me, check that shit out at 3:14. Sorry, John. Cover your ears. I'm just fantasizing, boo. I would not fuck him...I am a fucking LIAR right now. But don't sleep on style. It does go a long way. I've been known to wear a blazer to do laundry. I know. It's a little much, but you know how we do. I've been romantically interested in guys I just couldn't be seen with. Obviously, that's not love, but come on. Three syllables: Bri-o-ni. I get a little precum every time I say it. Hoodies, sweats and baseball caps er'day only work if you are a) my weed dealer, in which case, you already know I'm calling you this week; or b) you're John Legend, in which case I'm just gon' go 'head and say don't wear any clothes. Ever again. Otherwise, you must at least look commercial if not editorial. If that doesn't make any sense to you, I'm really ashamed :)
I'm also in love with whoever this chick is in the video. I forgot I was gay for like half a second. But just a half. That's hardly enough time to replace a dick with a titty+ in my mouth. So, whew. It's all good. Her wrist tatts are sexy. As you know, I have two. It's such a delicate area to get done. Both of mine were done in ten minutes total. I'm not saying I'm a baby, but I was very glad when those shits were colored in. Plus, I think tattoos invite kisses. Wrist kissing is hot ;) Ass kissing, on the other cheek, requires a bit more prep work. Hopefully :-|
The backgrounds throughout are suh-weet, but I especially enjoy their use in the second verse. If you're finding it hard to hear them, here's a trick. Place the plug almost all the way in the jack of your device (that means your computer, phone or mp3 player. I am not talking about your asshole. Feel free to put the earphone plug up your ass, but you will not hear what I'm talking about unless, of course, the computer, phone or mp3 player is up your ass, too. If you've got all that going on, you don't need to listen to this song. You're already the best you've ever had.) If you put the plug in the jack just wrong enough, the lead vocals are barely audible and all the backing instrumentation and supporting voices are pulled to the front. Ta da!
My last favorite thing about the song is John's vocalization of "best" at 3:23. It's such a small effect, but I go all the way in on shit like this. I'll replay that 1.5 seconds 70 times. It's his signature vocal styling that, to the untrained ear sounds like he's straining and cracking. Such is not the case. He's only singing an A, which is well within his range. That's just what the music makes his voice do :) He also rounds his notes with soft palate manipulation and the perfect amount of vibrato accented at the ends of his phrases. Wait. I have one more favorite - his riff at 3:43. I'm not going to say anything disrespectful, but he looks like he could be sitting down onto something right there. Now that I said it, you see it too, right?
Enough of this talk and this video. I've vowed not to jerk off til next Sunday, since I'm filming two scenes with BlackBreeders in NYC on the 16th. Thankfully, I'm a little heavier than I was for the last shoot. My goal until then is to gain an additional 5 pounds and make it a solid 150.
*Totally kidding, guys. It's $101 each ;)
**I did not know this.
+Clearly the word of the day. I think this word is funny as balls. Actually, balls aren't funny. And they're sensitive as hell. So don't laugh at them. (Even though they do look weird sometimes.)
Is there anyone who
Ever remembers changing their mind from
The paint on a sign?
Is there anyone who really recalls
Ever breaking rank at all
For something someone yelled real loud one time?
Everyone believes
In how they think it ought to be
Everyone believes
And they're not going easily
Belief is a beautiful armor
But makes for the heaviest sword
Like punching underwater
You never can hit who you're trying for
Some need the exhibition
And some have to know they tried
It's the chemical weapon
For the war that's raging on inside
Everyone believes
From emptiness to everything
Everyone believes
And no one's going quietly
We're never gonna win the world
We're never gonna stop the war
We're never gonna beat this
If belief is what we're fighting for
What puts a hundred thousand (people) in the sand Belief can
What puts the folded flag inside his mother's hand
Belief can
When I first decided to take this journey as a professional performer, I had no idea about the psychology of acting or my job as a storyteller. I hadn't read Uta Hagen, Stanislavsky or anybody else. Still, haven't actually. I just wanted to sing. Now I've come to see the developmental arc or just plain old story in all art be it photography, painting, choreography, modeling, et cetera.
In addition to storytelling as a profession, I've been thinking a lot about the stories we tell ourselves everyday. Like "everything is all right," when it isn't. I don't think it's always that we're lying to ourselves as much as we genuinely don't know how to recognize the signs. Pain is a warning that something's wrong. But "pain" doesn't always hit you over the head right away. Over the last few months I've had my run in with depression. Despite the obvious (to others) weight loss, barely controlled crying fits (that I kept largely to myself), lack of enthusiasm (more than usual) and feelings of loneliness (even though I see my very close friends often and even live with one), I didn't pick up on the signs. In retrospect, I was absolutely depressed. And because I internalize everything, nobody could help me. I was near tears in my doctor's office Monday answering questions about whether I'd had a flu shot. (I had not.) After a discussion about my diet and just a general conversation about my concerns since my last visit, he said, "Why don't we get you some help?"
Help can be a tough thing to ask for, but we all need it. It's not for "other people;" it's for all people. But, dear reader, none of this is a major cause for concern. Nothing can be gummy bears and sunbeams every day. I accept this heartily. Still, there's the regular into-every-life-some-rain-must-fall shit and then there's I-don't-care-if-I-eat-or-live-because-what's-the-point...-oh-yeah-fuck-my-life stuff. That last one will make you go, "Um, I think we better call somebody."
So what did I do? I looked under the hood at what was really going on. My work is one sore spot. I realized that I don't have more success because I haven't really sacrificed anything. I haven't AT ALL spent the time honing and sweating and giving everything I've got to my craft. I'm terrible at time management and I'm lazy as fuck, but not where bullshit is concerned. Case in point: the number of profiles, sites and various social media I'd registered with online over the years surprised me. Including this blog, I was OVER thirty. Thirty. WTF? And I can think of about two offhand that I forgot to put on that list. The story I'd been telling myself was that I could continue to peruse these sites all day, jerk off and crunch up all the towels (okay that's kinda funny) and still receive any real advancement or recognition for my work. In what world? No seriously. Where because I'd be all over that shit like Petraeus on Jill Kelley's man arms.
So yeah. I listed all the sites so I could a) see them clearly and b) have something to strike through as I deleted them. And you know what? It's working. How can there be room in my life for the things I want (and need) when I'm constantly shoving in so much of what I don't want (or need). I watched a clip of a Prince interview this week. He said he didn't really listen to a lot of other peoples' music because he "makes it." Of course that makes sense. Oprah doesn't spend all day watching TV. She's on the shit. Le sigh (That's French for "Exhale, bitch.)
Ever try to shit out a planet?* That's what being an artist is like. Planets are just big old bunches of rocks that pull their shit together to eventually form a mass large enough to have a gravitational force strong enough to make other shit spin around it. Okay, this Oprah metaphor is getting old, but you get me, right? The constant energy it takes to always be out working to get people to notice who we are and what it is we do and why you should come out makes one exhaustipated. No. Just because you grow it does not mean anybody's coming. It takes a lot. AND it takes a lot to make sure that whatever it is people are coming to see isn't busted so they'll come back. I stopped even telling friends I'm doing anything. If other people aren't talking about it yet, then it's not hot enough. Back to the rehearsal room. Gah! But that's the work. AND I FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT! :)) A few months back I sat at the piano and hammered through a tune (poorly), but it felt wonderful to be thinking about inversions while I sang along in the studio room. There needs to be more of that.
So I'm more focused and I feel better. I'm eating more and crying less. Though some crying is cathartic. I've been a bastard; I need to keep the heart from icing over again. At this rate, my ego will be back in no time and I'll be wearing shades for breakfast. I'm back with the band on a regular rehearsal schedule and I've already accepted work on the theatre's next production. I'm not all Mother Teresa and shit, though. (The woman did not keep a stylist.) I'm still keeping a few online profiles. A FEW! Not to mention the fact that I hardly need to look for new blood. My phone is full. But seriously. When my head totally clears, some lucky little dude (not 100 dudes) is going to have a very sore asshole ;-) I don't know this guy, btw. He gave me his number and I forgot to save it before I deleted my account :-(
There's also been the issue of just getting older. Latest revelation: At my current age, my mother had already been a parent to me for 16 years. I can't imagine having a 16 year old right now. Yet, my mom did. I remember thinking how much larger than life my parents seemed to me then and how much, dare I say, older. But now that I'm their age (then), I don't feel all that diminished really, except my knees creak every single goddamn time I get up. Wtf? Am I...old? Like, for realz? When the fuck did this shit happen? I blame my performance in A Chorus Line last year. Never had any knee creaking prior.
We all want to stay young and remember things "as they were," but getting older isn't all bad. I'm not ready to move into the Marigold Hotel, but I'm really okay with not being 20 anymore. I've been living in the moment long enough. It's time to actually plan some of this time I have left. Time. Is. Running. Out. On. Everything. And. Everyone. I want to have a husband and some children. Yeah, I guess I want a family ;-)
I was floored by Rihanna's admission of still being so in love with Chris Brown her stomach drops when he walks in a room. I want to have that with someone. Recently, a friend finally returned my text to say that he'd been off the radar because he had a bf. I've thought about this guy a lot over the years. He lives in the next town over from me. I've even imagined our kids. (Shut up.) But here's the thing: You have to tell people how you feel. Surprisingly, I wasn't sad in the least when I heard that news. I rejoice in the happiness of others, especially when I love them. That and I just don't have it in me to cry over a man anymore. Sneakers? Definitely. The fact is, we all get our time up at the mic. If I'm not at the mic, it's not my time. So how do I feel? I feel that I need to turn the page and start writing a new chapter. I'm happy to do that. And yes. You read that correctly.
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