Vishnu, grant me strength! Since I decided to live here in Tucson I had spent the last four days buying an obscene amount of stuff for my new apartment. However, my little swinger pad is starting to look grr-jus! Simply grr-jus!!
I love my job...my Hindu hottie boss is really cool and the other employees are laid back. Haven't been doing much...working, shopping, getting things in order. I sit here in my darkened place, typing on my laptop and drinking hot tea with honey (I am down with a slight cold.) and my feelings go out to a certain Aussie whose apartment recently burned down by a freak act of God. Well, it is my belief nothing is by accident. Everything happens for a reason, and only good times can come out of it. He snapped back like a 16-year-old with a hard-on! Happy and carefree in even better digs.
But, more about me.
I have been so happy lately...walking down the sunny streets kissing babies and hugging bunnies...things are going my way. David is being wonderful and for the first time in many relationships, I am not filled with doubt and self-loathing. I really like this feller. I know, you more prudish faggots will shrill that I a cheatin' two-faced liar...but hey, it's my life and YOU are so perfect, reet?
The only thing, Dear Reader, is the content of my writing. It's so tame. I really never have anything to write about...I don't live in filth and shit and perversion anymore, so I have no inspiration. Most of the time I stare at a blank screen or just look at porn. I don't suffer any longer. Have you noticed some of the greatest literary works in human history were written whilst the author was in misery?
- Naked Lunch: William Burroughs was living in a boy brothel in Tangier shooting heroin.
- 1984: George Orwell was dying from hacking tuberculosis.
- The Metamorphosis: Franz Kafka was diving into dementia and a failing liver.
- And Edgar Alan Poe? I won't even go into her crazy descent into coke and ether-induced madness.
Now, I have to come up with a snappy title. Hmmm? Let's see...Loser? It's the last thing Felix Montero said to me as we parted on the subway in Los Angeles a million lifetimes ago. Lost Highway? paying a homage to one of my favorite David Lynch movies. Or simply...Borrowed Flesh. Even though, some plagiarizing cunt has used the title for some hack work she pounded out. I'm not bitter, though.
I'm open to suggestions for a title. I mean, Kerouac came up with the title Naked Lunch, Old Bill wanted to call it Interzone.
Anyone?
4 comments:
lick
I still like Borrowed Flesh, despite the 'plagerising cunt'...
"Stays Crunchy in Milk"??
or
your ever original "My Ass For The World To Kiss"
Sounds like your doing good. I'm glad that you are happy. Soak it up, you may find a writing outlet there you just haven't noticed yet.
~K
While I do not have any suggestions for name - I will say this: fear not my young padawan - misery, despair, and the other lovely vicissitudes of life will come back to you as quickly (and or slowly) as it departed. What goes up must come down - just like our cocks. You are a pendulum and whether you go in search of great writing or it seeks you out - you will do it as all great writers and artists must. I will, however, make one suggestion which I'm sure you are well aware: just make sure you have the good stuff to help cushion the landing. Reality is for people who can't handle drugs.
I didn't mean for that post to be anonymous. My apologies.
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