Archive for July, 2010

On Life

July 31, 2010

On Life

I have been “on life” for 38 years now and I’m waiting for the high to kick in. I’m waiting for this stuff to work as well as booze or cigs or drugs or even caffeine or sugar or religion. Not that religion ever worked for me, but it works for some people because they love to pray and they sometimes talk in tongues the way I do when I’m wasted. Love also works, but only for a little while and just like drugs, there’s always a crash. Sex also works sometimes but a lot of it is bad and I’d rather have a can of warm Milwaukee’s Best than bad sex. Sports work for some people, shopping for others. In fact, pretty much everything people do, outside of basic survival, has been classified as a “drug” by someone at some point so I think it’s a fair assessment that we all live for drugs. This is one of my theories on life, which I am an expert on since I am on life at the moment.

Can I Sleep Now?

July 31, 2010

I am terrified. Terrified of the phone ringing, terrified of it ringing before noon, after noon, at night, all the time. Terrified of bad news, terrified of being annoyed, terrified of people asking for things. Terrified of what each day holds, of the roller coaster, of no stability. I’m terrified of getting a job, of expectations, of being unemployable, of not getting a job, of really truly losing my mind and ending up in a straightjacket. Actually, I’m not that terrified of the straightjacket because once I’m in a straightjacket I’m someone else’s responsibility. Right now, I am my responsibility and I can’t handle me any longer. I’m like a child that somehow figured out how to live on its own. Today I had one thing on my to-do list: buy toothpaste. I didn’t buy toothpaste but I did 7 drawings and now I have halitosis and 7 drawings no one wants. Actually, people will want them but I will sell them at a stupidly low price because I’ll have a Con Ed bill or some other bill due and I will be desperate to pay it. All my adult life, I’ve acted like a crackhead the way I sell things, like my body, for instance. But I’m not a crackhead; I’m just a bohemian who can’t figure out how to live very well, like that guy in the opera burning his plays to stay warm only I’m metaphorically burning my plays to pay Con Ed. Sometimes it’s to stay warm with the space heater and other times it’s to stay cool with the AC, but like that guy, I don’t make smart choices.

But I TRY. I try. And I have hope. I hope for many things. I write an article and hope whatever publication I’m writing for will like it. I write madness on my blog and hope that the 3 readers will like it. I do drawings and hope they’ll be liked. I hope that my book will be published and that I’ll write another book and that it’ll also be published and I hope that I get money together to produce my next play and I hope that I have a future and I hope that my family is happy, and my friends are happy and my dog is happy and that every person and animal in the world could just be happy and free from suffering and I know, that is a lot to hope for, so much to hope for that I’ll always be disappointed, always be afraid of news, always be afraid of the phone ringing, always be terrified.

Can I sleep now?
Can I just be a zombie?
Can I just enter the dream realm where I don’t have to make conscious choices and I get to talk to animals and Gods and Goddesses and kittens with glowing third eyes?
Can I just run away?
Can I just shut my eyes?


July 31, 2010

Not sure if I’m hypomanic or just manic or if hypomania is even a real mental disorder or just a label someone put on what used to be called joi de vivre but today I did 7 drawings so hypomania is good when channeled toward art and not self-destruction. Now I’m going to write something and get back to you because I can’t sleep.


July 21, 2010

Tonight, 9:30pm, I’ll be performing as part of a live WTF Podcast with Marc Maron and lots of other notable comedians.

In other important news, today is my 8 year anniversary with Rev. Jen Junior. By far the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had.


July 21, 2010

Maybe the things everybody’s saying are true
Maybe you are a soulless womanizing piece of shit
And a complete bastard
And an evil, evil man-whore
Who goes around seducing innocent maidens
And killing unicorns

Maybe YOU are responsible
For the oil spill
And the earthquake
And the tsunami
And everything else

But what everybody
Will never know
Is that you made me smile
When no one else could
You made my heart sing
Something so catchy
It’ll be on rotation
Till I’m in my grave

And you made my heart flutter like
Some crazy butterfly
That gets to transform
From a caterpillar to a butterfly
Every day of its life

I know you hate religion
So I won’t call you an angel
But that’s what you are to me
Swooping in at my darkest moment
With bodega wine product
And all the perfect sentences

I never tasted anything so good
Before or after

I went into every bodega in Chelsea
Looking for that wine product
Thinking if only I could find it,
Like some kind of magical potion,
It would bring back the taste of you

But it was gone
And you were gone
And everybody’s talking
Talkin’ talkin’ talkin’
Yammering away
Because everybody
Loves to talk
And usually everybody
Is only about 2 people anyway
And that’s not the world
I inhabit

I live in a world of dreams
Where there are magical potions
Disguised as wine product
And I’m an exotic butterfly
And you’re an angel
And everyday I’ll transform
Because of you
Singing that secret tune

I’ll watch you fly away

Just know that
The things I said were true
I do love you
Not because I can’t have you
But because I already do

Broken, Broken, Broken

July 19, 2010

Sometimes I like to write poetry when I’m sad. This is one I wrote tonight:

Broken, Broken, Broken

The oven broke.
Then the microwave broke.
Then the knob on the toaster oven broke
Then, in between all the kitchen appliances breaking,
A bunch of computers broke
So that my room is now a computer graveyard,
Where I am haunted by the fact that
I could have gone back to school and gotten another degree,
If it weren’t for buying all these now dead, spooky, broken computers, which all happen to be white just like Casper the Friendly Ghost.
Except for the Blueberry-colored one, which works enough to play a Hank William’s CD I duct-taped inside it.
And in between all those things breaking,
A steam valve in my building’s basement broke
And flooded my apartment
And practically everything inside it broke,
So many things that I stopped counting all the broken things
And tried to notice what was whole.
But tonight, I’m sitting on my building’s stoop,
Staring at the moon,
And even the moon is broken.
It’s just a shiny half.
I want to ask it: the half that I can see, for something.
I don’t wish upon a star because I hardly ever see the stars, let alone one I could wish upon.
So I’m constantly asking the moon for things,
Even though I have more than most people, more than a lot of the people walking by me.
A father and his two sons walk by me.
They have luggage and the father looks sad and desperate
And the smallest boy’s Spongebob backpack is broken
And my heart breaks for him because I wish
Someone would fix it for him
I wonder where the mom is,
And my mind immediately invents a tragic situation
And I want to adopt the whole family and take care of them
Even though I can barely take care of myself.
I care more for these boys than I do for myself.
And I momentarily stop feeling sorry for myself
Not that I really feel sorry for myself
I don’t feel much for myself
I’m indifferent to myself,
Neither a narcissist
Or my own worst critic
I put up with myself
The way I put up with all the taped-together technology
That fills my life.
I’m like an outdated, filthy computer playing the same sad country songs over and over because they’re duct-taped into me.
And it would take someone actually removing the tape for me to change my tune.
Maybe not worth the effort since I can’t be entirely fixed, just undone and taped back up.


July 16, 2010

Just read a news item that the Jersey Shore cast were prohibited from fist-pumping at The Eldridge. That’s freaking fascist. I’d love to have the Jersey Shore kids over to the Troll Museum for drinks. They could fist-pump all they like.

New Column and other stuff…

July 16, 2010

My new column is up, all about my adventures in London.

In other news, I am seriously considering starting a male escort service.

Still more news, it looks like the Troll Museum 10-Year Anniversary Party and Exhibition is gonna happen at HiChristina! Planning the party and making products and art to sell there gives me a reason to live, which I sorely need these days. Not to be too depressing here but it appears that I’m so avant-garde, as to be beyond help. So many people have wanted to help me, have tried to help me have a career. Very occasionally, they’re successful like when Jonathan got my book published. But more often than not, no one can figure out what to do with me.  I appreciate everyone trying to help but am starting to think that I’ll be living hand to mouth forever because the world isn’t gonna catch up anytime soon.

And I suppose that’s what they call “bohemianism.” So fuck it. La Vie de Boheme! I’m grateful for my dog, my friends, my family (seriously…how many people can’t stand their families? I’m very lucky.), my health (what’s left of it) and beer. Also, cheese although I’m currently on a diet.

Also, grateful for the web site Pandora. My roommate just turned me on to it and it’s like having a little slave DJ in your computer. Amazing.

This Friday…

July 13, 2010

I’ll be performing at this:

Gonna be a hot, sexy night!

would much rather hang with these guys…

July 13, 2010

…than at the Gansevoort!