The F.A.M.E.: Reflections - (re)Abridged

Entertainment is like a mirror; there really are (at least) two people. You standing there and you looking back at you. Which is real? Which would you like to be real? It's all a matter of perception really. And like a mirror, depending on which direction the sun (attention) is shining, it can reflect beautifully or burn the shit out of you.

I'm constantly fascinated with the cult of personality*, living inside the entertainment bubble and why people are famous in the first place. (*For some reason, Jerry Hall always comes to mind when I think of the term. Yes, I'm showing my age.)

What is fame, anyway? On some level, I think it means people get to (feel they) know you before they meet you. Problematic? Possibly. Based on those very loose parameters, for better or worse, thanks to blogs like this and other social media, increasingly more of us are achieving some level of "fame" with incredible ease. Major recording companies use amateur video blogs as a legitimate means to scour talent. Major news agencies now look to twitter as a source of really knowing what's happening on the front lines. Yes. Times they are a-changin'.

Speaking of fame, a few weeks back while high (uh yah i know: not a surprise), I fantasized about David Arquette. Why? Because I was high. That's my answer for almost everything, B.T. dubs. Anyway, I always thought David was cute. But I really love him now that he's a little older, grayer and fuller. He looks like a crazy ass stoner. So of course I've got wood for the dude. The fantasy the other night started well enough, but it quickly devolved into me worrying about having our relationship inevitably discovered and dragged into the tabloids. No. Bueno. (Drug-induced paranoia. Again: uh yah.) But you know how it always goes when humans try to mate with gods. It never bodes well for the mortal. We've seen this story all the way down from Zeus and Danae to Ralph Fiennes and that Qantas stewardess. Both women were, shall we say, fired like Brunnhilde. Mmmmmm HMMMP! The media always finds out about celebrity scandals. I saw it all flash before my eyes: I'd be tracked down and confronted by a porch and sidewalk full of reporters and cameras when I opened my door. I know exactly how the headline would read and, trust me. It wouldn't be flattering.

If people feel they pre know you, they also feel welcome to pre judge. It's been brought to my attention how public and open I appear to be living with this blog. I'm an attention junky. I admit that's true at times. I'm an entertainer. Shocked? It's a fine line, but there IS one. I'm careful about outing people here (whether they're gay or not). Also, what I write here is such a small part of my life, but I get to decide what info is released. If I were under the microscopic scrutiny or reflected in the mirror of a Hollywood scandal, there's no way I'd be able to control professional journalists finding out EVERYTHING about me. There's no wonder people want to be anonymous. Still we go ever towards the light (Carol Ann) of stardom. What is it with us? We're a world of exhibitionists and voyeurs every one of us. And I couldn't be more pleased :-)

Black Spark seems to have discovered a quite tantalizing middle ground. It's almost like watching a music video, which is an art form that still wields a lot of power. When I see celebrities' videos, movies, international concerts and interviews, beauty and clothing campaigns, I just have to take a moment and think "what that must cost to be EVERYWHERE." Glad that's not me. Then I get random texts from friends and others saying "Hey. Hope you're well. Just saw your (dick, face, ass, video, whatever) on (some random ass blog, tumblr, etc). Did you know about this?" Actually, not always. I was quite surprised to be told that the infamous multiple loads video is still floating around the blogosphere (not mine). I completely wasted the energy deleting the video from Xtube :-) I don't even have a copy of that one anymore. Oh well. Hopefully, I'll look back on all this in 60 years (days?) and say, "I had it going on then."

More Anonymous

Not So Anonymous

Eponymous

I Love the Way You Lie...

Next to me. Forehead against the back of your head. Soft baby curls all gone. Greedily inhaling the defiantly cute bristles. Lips touching the back of your silky smooth neck. Breath lightly moistening your nape. Your furry little ass warming my thighs under the covers. Ice cold air blowing over us. Heat index steady and humid without. Stealing kisses from your warm neck in quick succession. (One. Two. Three. Four.) Careful not to wake you. I want to eat you alive. You know this. My arm so tight around you my fingertips rest sleepily in your armpit. My hard dick flick-tapping a sticky Morse code on your ass: "Let me in. Let me..." (Five. Six. Seven. Eight.) I want to fill you with milk. My milk. Decorate your insides with Pure Unadulterated ME (Number 9) just because I want to. I groan the thought that Dalí was right:

I want to consume you.


Instinctually, you want to allow yourself to be. Consumed, that is. We both know. It's why you tease me. (Because you can.) It's why I let you. You and I still in this dance. After. All. This. Time. Descendant of Dionysus and progeny of Pan that I am, I have no inhibitions claiming my rightful place among such illustrious Pagan heritage. I'll wait for my proper invitation, should that ever come. Despite my leaking tribute and sweaty ripeness, neither hedonistic reveler nor goat god will I be tonight. I've taken the form of mere mortal just to hold you. (Because I can.) I like our dance.

Strict MACHINE - Version 9:11

I'm usually one of the last to know about a LOT of things, especially music videos. I'm the lone nerd standing with my ear phones enthusiastically rocking some tune from 9 years ago yelling "OMG this song is fucking AWESOME!" Yeah. I'm still doing that. Exhibit A: this song. The video is definitely perfect for the stoned, which was exactly my state when I first saw it. I haven't been this moved by a bass line since Mirwais' Disco Science. (Remember when it was in the Victoria's Secret commercials?)

Bet you can't guess the first thing to really grab my attention in Strict Machine. Nope. You're gross. It was the Siberian Husky-headed men. (Maybe you did get it right.) In addition to the why of the head choice, I wanted to know who the choreographer was. (The SONG has its own wikipage.) I love that choreographers not only design dance moves; they also create and direct motion in general. In the video, these dogs represent domesticated (suited: provider) danger (shirtless: fuck monkey). Huskies can rip your throat out sure, but aren't they just our pets, too? Kinda like having a Doberman or being friends with Nene Leakes: It's all fun and games and "ooh look at me. I'm living on the edge; I'm a bad ass. Whooo!" That is, until you get your ass eaten alive by one (or, realistically, both). The result? A pretty good time by my account ;-)

Speaking of music, I recorded with these guys a few years ago. I don't know what happened to the track I recorded. It could've been terrible, but I'd love to hear what they did to it. This group is the reason I went to Rise for the first time. I know my readers come from all over and do lots of different things. If any of you are into music production, engineering, promotion, writing, etc PLEASE contact me to work.

Naked Music (with a side of Spanish uncut sausage)