It doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you think you are.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Ludo - Love Me Dead
"You suck so passionately You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature finger-bangin' my heart You call me up drunk Does the fun ever start? You're hideous and sexy!"
So, yeah...I've written about "Owning Excuses And Failure"(Part One) and (Part Two).
And I don't really know what's happened to me...I used to be much more fearless than I am these days. And I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.
I mean really, what the F is the big deal? What the hell am I afraid of?
So, what has me shaking in my platform flipflops? The experiences of my predecessors? Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but THIS looks like something to be afraid of:
Dude...If you remember ONE THING from "Titanic", it should be Rose telling Jack, "I'll never let go...I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go..." And dude? Like that no-good lying, trollop Rose, you let go.
Or maybe this;
"Sven? Those really aren't the balls that we're supposed to be kicking. K? But, thanks. Thanks a lot. I suppose that I'll go fill out one of those applications for the Vienna Boys Choir now."
Or this;
All aghast, is she pointing to his faux right nipple? Or to the rest of the disaster that's attached to it? And he actually might be pretty if he weren't...you know, a bloated, fur-covered line-backer.
Or this;
I hate it when I roll a car and no one else was even involved.
Definitely this;
Uummm...let me guess...Britney pre-waxed and with pronounced labia strategically getting out of her Maserati in front of the paparazzi? No? Well, then whoever it is has GOT to be blind. Or fucking retarded. Or both. Dude, the least you could've done was tuck your right testicle. Why the Lilly-living FUCK do you think you look good in this??
And MOST definitely this;
Sweety? You're on your own...such as. And for your sake, I hope that you can give tremendous blow-jobs...such as.
I was talking with a friend about a month back while we were at a party. She's just fantastic. She has the energy of 1000 horses, but yet in one of those centered kind of ways.
All 1000 horses galloping in the same direction with the same destination in mind...without stopping to graze or drop big pies or kick you in the head when you're not looking kind of deal. They're on a focused mission to some far away lofty field on a high grassy knoll where they can roam and frolic with a regalness that can only belong to such a divine creature.
I was lamenting the lack of focus and motivation that I've been feeling in regards to my one-person play. I told her that I just couldn't seem to get it together. That there was "no inspiration like a deadline" and that no one was breathing down my neck to get things done. And that I just kept floundering. I told her that if I thought about it as objectively as I could, I would say that I was stalling for fear of failure. At least I thought that's what it probably was...
I was FULL of excuses. And she was having NONE OF IT.
And she grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me (to my dismay, she didn't bitch-slap me, which is usually my preferred form of communication). She looked me dead in the eyes and said, "NO! FAILURE IS NOT EVEN TRYING. IF YOU DON'T ASK, YOU DON'T GET. AND IF YOU DON'T TRY, YOU WON'T KNOW. AND NOT TRYING IS JUST GIVING UP...WHICH LEADS TO REGRETS. AND PEOPLE USUALLY DON'T REGRET THE THINGS THAT THEY'VE DONE, THEY REGRET THE THINGS THAT THEY HAVEN'T DONE. NOT TRYING IS FAILURE. THAT is failure. July 15th. That's your deadline. Now, get busy."
And I almost pissed my pants. I almost pissed her pants. And I was close to pinching a dookie in my trousers as well.
But, she's right. Regardless if I can get my wits together or not, not even trying IS failure. It's giving up. And as of yet, I've never given up on anything.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see myself as a little timid creature, a little apprehensive and weary, I see myself as
little.
But, I think that I may be in need of an image over-haul. I think that it's time that I keep that heart of mine, but I might have to alter the perception that I have of myself
So, Will read my last few posts and said, "I don't think that you should write anything more while you're still on Vicodin and Valium."
And I replied, "Oh yeah? Yeah? Well, what about Xanax? I'm not taking THAT anymore!" (Because I ran out) "So, why you don't you just suck it, Mr. Drug Counselor..."
I would say that being all drugged up for the last few days has been "sobering", but that would most certainly be an oxymoron. But, it has been humbling to my self-esteem. What little bit was left.
I'm running into walls, stumbling over lint, and saying really inappropriate things that don't make sense (more so than usual). For instance, I turned to Will yesterday and told him that I just cooked an entire platter of Greek spaghetti and so there's plenty for left-overs.
He looked over at me a bit wearily and replied, "Well, that's pretty amazing seeing how you've been sleeping for the last two hours and haven't stepped foot in the kitchen since yesterday."
What a know-it-all.
Anyway, I just spilled coffee all over myself, because you know, coffee and Valium go together like...like...I have no idea what they go together like. Like NOTHING, that's what they go together like.
I'm starting to feel like Liza Minnelli,
except my hair is lighter. And I can dance better. And I can sing without choking.
So, while I'm in this state, I feel like being very open with you. Maybe a little more honest than usual. Although, I'm usually pretty forthcoming with you...
But anyway...I'm feeling a little...vulnerable these days. A bit breakable. And occasionally, I feel like I'm holding on by the grit of my teeth.
I talked to my parents the other day. And our relationship has been a little bit strained recently because of this being the election year and we have VERY different views of the candidates and where our country is heading...or not heading.
Well, I've been trying to meditate more and breathe myself into a calmness that keeps me in the moment. Like I said, I've been TRYING. I've been reading and studying Thich Nhat Hanh's work voraciously lately so that I don't spontaneously combust. And it's honestly been helping. For like, 3 minutes...but still. It IS helping.
His writings are simple and accessible and honest. I truly feel that I breathe his wisdom in and my heart rate slows and my spirit calms just reading his words.
Anyway, I meditated before calling my parents recently to tell them that Will and I were planning on getting married in the next few weeks. I also told them that the day before was our 6th year Anniversary. (Thank you so much to those of you who commented or sent emails of congratulations. Truly. It meant so much to me and Will and we honestly appreciate your sincere good wishes and support.)
Well...They were quiet. Actually, their response was, "Ohh..."
They support the civil rights of gays and all people, but maybe more in theory, because they were quiet. They didn't say "Congratulations!" or "Happy Anniversary!" or any of it. They said, "Ohh..."
And not attempting to instigate matters, but sincerely trying to be honest and make them think what their responses might be if the tides were turned, I inquired, "If I were marrying a woman, would you guys fly out here for it?"
And there was a brief silence, where my mother then replied, "Probably not. Oh honey, it's just getting so difficult to travel these days."
Oh really? Huh...I'm thinking that the covered wagon days were probably a little trying. A little dusty and somewhat arduous having to dodge bows and arrows and trying to keep from getting scalped. That must have been bothersome.
Or maybe when you had to take a Steamer or a Clipper around Cape Horn at the tip of South America, through the precarious Straits of Magellan that would take around...Oh, I don't know, 120 days if you were fortunate enough to not end up in a full-on storm that would sink your ass to the bottom of the ocean. That would be bothersome as well.
But...I'm thinking not so much these days. Oh I know, I know, 5 hours on a flight with some of these asshole flight attendants can sure SEEM like you're getting shot at or are in danger of getting your weaves scalped, but is it really just the worst thing ever?
You know what? You don't have to say it, my opinions are probably a little harsh. Maybe a little unwarranted.
I know that my folks are supportive in the best way that they know how. But, the silence of their "support" was deafening. And it left me numb and feeling rather empty.
When I told my oldest brother that Will and I would be getting married, he said, "Oh. Did you see where Mr. Sulu
is getting married to his longtime partner and
Lieutenant Uhura is going to be his maid of honor??"
No. I missed that part. Headquarters didn't call to tell me.
And I'm sorry that my pending wedding to Will isn't as exciting to you as an actor who plays an imaginary character on a fucking spaceship is...
I guess his way of demonstrating his support for me was to inform me that when confronted with the news that Mr. Sulu was getting legally married to another man, the captain and crew of the starship U.S.S. Enterprise
didn't die in their own vomit.
However, on another note, a note that keeps me afloat, I later spoke with my sister-in-law, Nancy. And when I told her that Will and I were getting married, she practically leapt through the phone with excitement. She was elated for us. Truly beaming for us. And it just about sent me bawling. I surprised myself by my voice cracking and holding back tears. It was difficult for me to even respond back to her without sobbing in gratitude.
I guess that I wasn't fully aware of the enormity of what a family member's unconditional support meant to me.
Later that evening, her oldest daughter, my niece Meg called to congratulate us on our pending nuptials. She was just as thrilled for us as her mother. And the heart in my chest that previously felt on the verge of shattering, regenerated upon itself with the healing elixir of love. It beat grandly with the unconditional love that poured forth from these beautiful selfless spirits to mine...to ours.
"some of its blood vessels are so wide that you could SWIM down them..."
That just fricking blows my dome, man...to SWIM DOWN A CREATURE'S BLOOD VESSEL??? DUDE! That's just crazy! I can't really comprehend that, you know?
That means that it's at LEAST the size of Donatella Versace's vagina. We could probably hold a big ole water polo match in that vag. Yuk. Oh sure, everyone would have to be in hazmat suits while doing it, but still.
Okay, onto more serious matters than Donatella's over-sized cooch.
We share this planet. And it's much more than just our home. It's home to a lot of big blood vessels and A LOT of big vaginas.
I happen to have seen the WWF's work in progress when I was in Nepal sometime back, and they were actually making great strides in preservation in the remote Himalayas. And it made me proud and hopeful.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, those subtitles in the video-clip are for the Blue Whales that speak Japanese. Not everyone speaks English, you know...sheez.
"On May 1, 1974, Michael Gonzales and two friends paraded up State Street sidewalks in costume to celebrate his May Day birthday. In subsequent years their parade moved to June to join with a Summer Solstice Music Festival coordinated by friend Michael Felcher in celebration of the longest day of the year. Felcher and Gonzales' group, Santa Barbara Mime & Music Theater was instrumental in developing the original parade. Today's parade is a growing collection of hundreds of local citizens and revelers from around the world - artists, dancers, and musicians, as well as just people with a great idea and a pack of friends, or anyone willing to carry giant puppets or push floats and dance their way up State Street."
"After an almost twenty year absence from the United States, a seminal painting by Michael Gonzales, Summer Solstice Celebration, 1981, has returned to Santa Barbara from Australia.
The painting has now been gifted to the Santa Barbara County Arts Commission and will be displayed permanently in the downtown Public Library."
"The return of this painting by Kevin Tierney is a gift not only to the community, but to all those who continue to be inspired by the spirit of Michael Gonzales, the artist who first had the vision of a parade in Santa Barbara and fervently encouraged the creativity of its citizens. Michael died in May 1989 from AIDS. That June, a Maypole festooned with ribbons held high by his dancing friends led the Parade, with Michael's ashes stowed in its heart."
One man started a whole city celebrating...with a little help from his friends.
LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF LIFE, LOVE AND CELEBRATION!!!
There's not a wall around that can hold it back.
***DISCLAIMER***
This author is by NO MEANS in anyway responsible for the psychological trauma of those that attend that witness those less-than-in-shape parade participants who are inappropriately dressed in spandex and Lycra and sheer panties with feather tails and thongs that may create a visceral reaction for those suffering from bulimia and even for those who don't. But, the comic factor alone is GOLD. And totally worth the projectile vomiting that ensues. Trust me.
Dear Santa, Please Tell John McCain To Go Drill Himself
For Integrity...Although, I have a feeling that that well is dry.
"Americans are fed up with runaway gas prices and bloated oil-company profits, but Senator John McCain and President Bush's proposal to drill for oil along our coastline will only increase Big Oil's bottom line. Their move to open up our coasts for Big Oil is making headlines all across the country today -- I woke up to commentators on NPR talking about coastal oil drilling.
"We can't drill our way out of high gas prices. Tell Congress:
"Oil drilling off our coasts is just another Washington gimmick. Drilling won't help us with high gas prices -- it will only help Big Oil make more money. Congress must stop Big Oil's drilling plan." (The Sierra Club)
Meanwhile, the Japanese are creating cars that run on hydrogen (ZERO EMISSIONS) and EMIT water. But, we're still talking about drilling for more oil. That's just fucking embarrassing. This administration is living in the dark ages. And John McCain can suck my balls. Although, that would make me want to throw up in Cindy McCain's mouth...or at least on her botox-plastered face.
And you know what? I don't feel bad about telling that old fucker that, because it sounds like he understands that kind of language.
Wasn't one foul mouth, piece of shit, dark lord in the White House enough for a while?
****Update****
Girlfriend was twirling one of the twelve hairs on his head and said "playfully" that he was going a little thin up there and he went all WWF on her ass calling her a trollop and a cunt.
Word on the street was that she got him in a half-nelson and dislocated one of his hips. And then, he shit himself. But, they're not reporting that part.
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