Gonzo Journalism.. and blather..
SCAMOTOMOLOGY: The name people will use to refer to this cult when their temples are all gone and no one is brain washed into believing their tripe anymore. Or... not. So, there, Steven Colbert. Actually, I of course love Steven Colbert, who went to school a few miles from where I sit. Everyone's life is enriched when someone this politically astute, talented, funny, cool, cutting edge and my age actually gets really big? IT IS TOO RARE!!! Almost like early Letterman, back when he was mean to stars who were full of themselves, before he lost that Midwest cynicism after staring too long in those starlet's eyes (and crotches), and soon that boy forgot they were wearing seal skin coats and beating their assistants with water bottles for no reason what-so-ever and being forgiven, if not worshiped by all, for being a fucking diva... he would have been all over that shit once, and now he is polite-- funny, but polite; he may just be funnier now, who knows? He is the only person I can stand to watch interview some starlet; a master, he somehow remains funny, instead of asking them for their opinions on world peace and pomegranates and celebrity brats. As much as I love Conan, the first twenty minutes and his films are still the best. I wish he would enlarge that shit to an hour. In this respect, it might have been better if he had not made such a splash as a talk show host -- the world lost a hell of a lot of good writing that he simply won't have time to do, because he is a host/stand-up guy most of the time now.
I am just ranting today. What the hell? You had something better to do, you'd be doing it.
The sky is grey here. Chicago winters are known for this nebulous color. Everything becomes brown and grey when the leaves go. I have spent the morning rewriting yesterday's entry, as I usually do lately. I hate that a lot of people read my messed up first drafts, but I have no idea at the time they are going to get better. That is magic of the rewrite. Like when I did what I think is my best in awhile, I Devil, and called my old editor and had her read it. She immediately called me back and told me that I had messed up the dates. I added the dates late in the story in kind of a rush, and the weed didn't help the math any, I suppose... anyways, I fixed that while she was still on the phone. She also asked me how Mary Ann would feel about getting cancer?
I would never think of this, idiot I am. I had Mary Ann print it for me, so she read it on the way home, and sure as hell... she came in the door, tossed me the story and asked, "Why do I have to get cancer... in my stomach?"
Here when I was writing it, the feeling was of tender love for the most significant women to come into my life. I have really never stopped loving any of them -- dog, I find myself pining for women I had crushes on in grade school. I once wrote a poem about a woman breaking up with me (who hasn't?), titled, SHE STOPPED. Loving I mean, of course. It did shock me, and always have, and just may again -- my mom keeps saying shit like, "Mary Ann is going to find out what you're like, she'll wise up to how worthless you are and toss you and that cat out on your asses, just like I did!!'
The women I cared about most broke up with me. Always. Other than that handful, I broke up with them. I guess I deserved it every time, but still... I didn't wish it, even when I can see how my art needed me to take the path that I did, and their loves would have stopped my university and cab driving and big city living -- all the experiences that took me from a talented boof to a often seemingly professional writer... perhaps. Who can know? I hate people who draw a lot of lines in the sand and then call them scripture. I might have become president of some bowling association, or been a professional mud wrestler (after a sex-change and plastic surgery to make me look, as much as possible, like a STYLISH Siberian husky).
Oh, by the way... I am sick of our calendar, and am investigating other methods of telling time, like from the Aztecs or whatever. I mean, fuck the imperialists imposing their fucking time on me!!! For now, I am making it, at a time that is noon for you sheep-heads, 3am. Later, the am and pm will be replaced with something more 'truthy (Colbert).' As will the three, probably. I will go up to people and ask them, “What time it is," in a grumpy, worried voice. After they answer, I’ll get all pissed off, and jump around like I am crazy and scream, "YOU ARE SO FUCKING WRONG!!" Then I will start screaming at my siberian husky Ruby to attack, and as she lunges at the people to give them kisses, I will hold her back so they think she is indeed a killer!! "Attack these time addled asses!!" I'll taunt those sheep’s, follow them for blocks if I have to, going on with a long, rambling rant about how they are so fucking wrong!!! And how they better wake up to the true time, before the corporate wolves consume their flesh!!!
From this slim action, the seeds of my cult will be laid. I figure an entire new time will work perfectly for one of the essential components of any cult, that old US VERSUS THEM thing. Not to mention, anything that can make people self-righteous is good for a religion.
Per my strategy, it will start with the same bums I entice in here with mad dog to listen to my lectures (or at least they used to, before my neighbors... and a few passing cars... complained about the volume of my amplifier... the cops may have told me to stop the lectures or they were going to kill me and my neighbors may have been all disappointed they weren't going to shoot me and started screaming at them that they had no balls, and what-not). They're going to go out and get me a bunch of kids who are into Robotripping (drinking cough syrup to extreme excess). They just hang around outside of high schools and yell, “Robotrip, first bottles free," as the kids pass. Anybody who comes up gets a thick red bottle of good times. I add a roofy and muscle relaxers and a bit of moonshine to the Cough syrup, and most of them pass before they can finish the 'free bottle.
So I can easily chain them up and get the brain washing going. The winos have promised to carry around signs all day THAT ADVERTISE the Church Of The Bleeding Mole, as long as I keep them drunk. And bums are everywhere. You will be amazed by how much advertisement I can get out of a crate of mad dog and a few bottles of cough syrup. Yea, that is why I am spending so much time putting up the old Scamatomology (go on, say it with me, Scamatomology -- it flows off the tongue so nicely... now, use this term whenever you are referring to this cult, and slowly, imperceptibly, patiently we will await the crumbling facade of this cult, and the release of those silly Hollywood internalized homo-phob types from their financial and mental bonds). Any cult I can cut down is less competition.
I have been practicing on Hamsters, of course. With the usual limited results. They still just eat, screw and poo... occasionally punctuated with that damn squealing wheel. In fact, I guess I kind of lost my temper with that sound while watching Return Of The Sith (so inspiring, the dark side is) and might have let Ruby Dog have a little hamster feast... well, that or they went to Iraq to join the jihad, like I told M. And it might be true. They have been training for battle for so long without tasting any blood that they just had to rush out and kill something. Well, probably.
Anyways, I have jabbered away the morning staring out the window watching the foot traffic and buses and car and SUV’s buzzing down Sheridan. My mother in law is here. I can't watch TV, because she is a game show junky...since she is 78 and a visitor, I let her go... Of course, I am writing more than ever as a result.... I needed a break from cable TV, obviously. I truly love TV!!! There is a lesson here about time management, one I have been trying to get myself to take seriously for years... but I never seem to learn those lessons well enough to impose them over my whims.... because, let's all say it together, "I suck!"
Thank you for wasting time with me today. I hope the hell you can find something more productive to do next year. Things to do on daily basis, as well as goals. I want to have a combination of tasks going that achieve both my long and short term goals. I could try to have a schedule. Maybe that would help me enough to get more done? Well, it probably would... but who I am I kidding, I can barely keep up with the dishes... that should be my goal this year -- never let ALL THE DISHES get dirty. You know how that is? You're down to a fork, which you use to eat soup out of an old paper carry out container that adds its own taste.. for both good, and bad.....
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