Friday, January 14, 2005

Shooting Yourself in the Foot While Pissing into the Wind.

Preface; I don’t like having to do this, though I expect it will have some entertainment value. I haven’t seen it yet but this kind of thing usually turns out to be as amusing as it is offensive and in a more minor sense, enlightening or educative; the latter in the way a whip might encourage us not to repeat certain kinds of behavior.

Besides the commentary in the recent thread from the most recent post, I’ve gotten at least half a dozen emails about the condition and ongoing crying jag that is that other forum whose name we would rather not mention; even though the names of certain contributors may be. Then again, maybe it’s good to breakup the usual work I do here. I was rather fond of the recent piece and would rather it had stayed where it was but... I’m not really that much in control of how things go; I just sing my part when the conductor points to me. So, let’s get this out of the way and move on. This is in response to fraysnooper and others for whom this particular thing has some importance. Meanwhile, thank you for the ongoing support and such; it is very gratifying- to say the least. I don’t respond in the threads usually because it starts to look weird. I do respond to all emails as you must know if you’ve sent me one.

Fraysnooper and the rest; what can I say? I haven’t gone by that place much but when I have it looks like a poinsettia two weeks past Christmas. As for the star-poster who polled the unwashed about bands named after semen (thank you for that- NOT). So what? I also got the link to that awful, fatuous piece he did about Star Poster VIP lounge. What made this even more dreadful is that the exact same thing had been done many times by others before and it always makes you look like an idiot. It must reflect the editors tastes.

Trivial Pursuit and banal referendums- virtual tears in virtual stockings; crooked seams on cottage cheese legs, dancing Mickey Mouse cellphones ringing in the polythene bathhouses of fast food Disney-lands, chatty Cathy dust bunnies emulating the pop up ads on the site as if they were of similar substance; and for all I know, they are; this may be cringe making but it shouldn’t be surprising. Bush World has become a national theme park; not so much in terms of political support but in a general pervading sense that dumb is cool, stupid is hot, lame is graceful and pimples are beauty marks.

Yes, it’s nice that most of the sixth graders are lining up so nicely at the cafeteria. The new get tough reforms from fag central and the sight of unruly (read unpopular, uncooperative- odd man out in the circle jerk) students being led away in handcuffs, buggered in print by the editor, expelled, quit in self defense; or moved to another area of show business behind another elephant... this should not be surprising, nor is, as has been pointed out, the rank hypocrisy on the part of dishonorable overseers and lingam lemmings. There is much less wear on the touchstone these days here in the wilderness of quivering buttocks waiting... Don’t be so surprised about Nature throwing up. None of this is her kind of thing.

You might as well weep for the America that is gone as to get all worked up about the fact that a yuppie cyber-fern bar is full of patronage appointments for backroom blowjobs, ridiculous, demeaning writing- or sour locker room rancor.

Look, I know it’s hard to let go of the things inside your head. I plan on asking that editor to flush my MBTU entire as soon as more prioritized efforts are completed. I’ll wash my tracks and hope that this will go some distance toward decreasing the high water line of phlegm tracks that migrate over here.

I appreciate all the comments about how much I deserved recognition more, but you will note that few of you said anything about it when you were asked over there, as one of you was so kind as to point out (in some detail I might add)- so don’t whine about what you had no motivation to push. I contributed there for several years without a star and never wanted one. It was obvious from the beginning that most of the people got theirs through some backdoor ritual of ‘spit or swallow?’ And it was seldom if ever an indication of good writing; nor is it now. I finally decided to go get one because certain gypsy cab drivers there felt compelled to go on about how I didn’t deserve one. I got one, six people turned their stars in because of it; I couldn’t have been happier. I promptly forgot about it after that and it never mattered one way or the other afterwards.

It wasn’t all that great before I got there. It wasn’t all that great while I was there and now it’s just a bad caricature of itself. I’m not missed there nearly as much as some of you make out. Trust me on this. It’s better all the way round now. I’m free of the entire daily attendant, casual frippery that I didn’t enjoy- the smarmy philistines and proud Pet Rock owners. I’ve moved to a better neighborhood AND been able to elevate my game.

That place served me well. I learned a lot of things. In a way it was like one of those gladiator schools; a weird reformatory bardo through which I passed. Believe it or not, there are worse places. I may not like track suits with gold chain; bolo string ties, polyester stretch pants, things that come in spray cans, SUV’s, make-up, perfume, TV, Pop Music, processed foods... God! The List! BUT, most people not only like these things but earnestly pursue them and half the world that doesn’t have them will do anything to get them. As bizarre as it may look to the few of us; the cyber fluff bunnies, treacle hounds, the nervous masturbators of pointless spurting nonsense, the vile, the vicious, the clueless and the clowns... these are not the exceptions, these are the main.

Most people are desperately eager to belong to anything. Like sugar fueled teenies at a slumber party they will scream and cry out over the top of each others voices all night long in an embarrassed confusion of weeping hormones, sour armpits and uncoordinated limb jerks. Should you walk into the room wearing a pointed hat with stars and moons on it and talking like a Wood Elf you shouldn’t be surprised at the reception you get.

There is a red faced wet groined urgency to bond, even over the most callow of interests. It’s human nature to act and look stupid. It’s human nature to fail and lay blame. We have much to be grateful for in the tolerance of the divine and its guaranteed presence. Hard as it may be for us to accept, we were all of us once as clueless and insecure as these people. We’ve been there and we’ve done that. We look about as competent to those who have gone into the unseen heights beyond us and perhaps look upon us with more compassion than we do these others.

Deep inside everyone knows how silly they act and how afraid they are. It can’t be easy. We’d all take back our stupid words and actions if we could. Despite our convenient masks and assumed anonymity we are not protected as we imagine ourselves to be. We can prance about cyber space, launching arrows and crossing swords; no matter how many degrees of separation we imagine, we are still hung out to dry on the world’s TV set. Even using the name of the character you play- your real name still rolls up in the credits. Everyone feels the impact of every stupid thing they say as it reverberates in the minds of their peers. Everyone sees the jealous asides, the envious stabs, the curmudgeonly retorts; the menopausal harridans, gossiping backstabbers, pointless convoluters and pseudo intellectual posturing, bad dancers and drunken yobs. No superficial twit passes unseen. All come across the sightline of the single eye that watches us all. None of them win.

What happened to those desperate popularity seekers in high school? What happened to those who would suffer any company and pander to every taste and interest no matter how bad or how shallow; who all the while waited like Brutus in the wings for the opportune moment to thrust? Did any of them turn into The Boss? James Dean? Joni Mitchell? True achievers always cut new paths, even when they’d grooved it from the last go round.

The way I see it, I used to play at one of those clubs in the dicey end of town. The toilet was trashed and the walls covered with all kinds of graffiti; some of it funny, some of it rude and downright cruel. But hey, it’s a toilet. That’s what happens there. Most of the patrons are drunk or lonely or both. All of them are unfulfilled. Many nights it’s Open Mike, others it’s Karaoke. It’s never very good. Now and then they’ll have a main act. I couldn’t help reading the things on the toilet walls. It happens; you’re standing there and...

I moved to another town. I expect since I have gone new people have written on the walls of the toilet; some of it is probably funny and most of it is rude or downright cruel. These days I usually piss outdoors where there are no walls, just the breeze and the stars and the creatures of the night. When I go in and sit by the fire, my thoughts are of vibrant dreamscapes and fantastic planets where mute dancers move through kingdoms of prisming crystal; where the air itself is music. Sometimes I just tremble from the beauty that vibrates just outside the range of my senses. I can feel the keen anticipation of the things that await. I am not thinking about some toilet in some bar where I used to take a leak.

[will this do? There are all sorts of things happening in all sorts of places. We all need to pick according to our tastes and what we are comfortable with. Everything will melt back into everything eventually. Does it really matter what happens in between? Everyone is doing the best they know how to do, even when it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard or seen]


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The 3rd Elf