Echo

California Vanity? Sounds Redundant

I drove by a Lexus yesterday with the vanity plate: ADONIS

It made my soul gag.

Something to Get the Blood Boiling In the Morning

“A woman should say: “Have I made him happy? Is he satisfied? Does he love me more than he loved me before? Is he likely to go to bed with another woman?” If he does, then it’s the wife’s fault because she is not trying to make him happy.”

~ Barbara Cartland (1901-) British novelist

Once again, kids:

“[There’s] no substitute for real nutritious cuisine.”

One sign that you’re ignorant:

You go into a state of moral outrage when your state of denial is challenged.

I think she’s right, you know. Much respect to Maggie. If we as a country could be more self-reflective and take more responsibility for our actions and the things we do that cause reactions throughout the world, maybe we could start rebuilding our relationship with the rest of the world.

“Spurs insiders are understandably nervous about Duncan’s tentative movement after three ankle sprains and the lingering discomfort in Ginobili’s groin.”

Heh. The line that made thousands of sports fans across the nation suppress giggles.

I just got back from Hotdog, the Saturday night event at this gay bar. I went because I was promised there would be gay porn projected.

Walking in, the first things I see are male strippers dancing on a stage in front of a screen that had erotic film clips projected onto it. The strippers’ themes were Cowboy, and Mexican Wearing a Poncho (I know he was supposed to specifically be Mexican because his poncho had the colors of the Mexican flag on it). According to Brian, I walked into the door and my jaw just dropped. I was completely captivated by the strippers and how men would go up and nuzzle their faces into the stripper’s crotch. It was kind of hot. If someone wanted to call me gay, I think I’m much more gay man than lesbian. By the way, gay men are so much hotter than straight men. It’s so unfair. Also by the way, Brian has agreed to take me to a lesbian bar in an effort to get me over my fear of burly lesbians.

Speaking of…I don’t know what…I was at forty deuce early in the week for Thode’s birthday and I went to use the restroom. There was a white girl with short curly hair waiting in front of me. And before I go further with this story, let me say that I had gotten a good look at her and she was most definitely a girl. Well, when I went in after her, I was surprised to find the toilet seat was up.

Now…why would the seat be up after a girl goes in there?? I was so incredibly confused. I’ve heard of guys who pee sitting down (yeah, certain people…you know I’m talking about you), but girls who pee standing up?

I bet Julia Roberts pees standing up.

Ah, i figured it out. i’m afraid that if he can’t understand me but still insists on staying close, when my insides get anxious and angry because what I’m trying to communicate isn’t being understood, i’ll get frustrated and resent him and lash out at him. so if i were supportive of myself, wouldn’t i say, the need to be understood is very important to me so i shouldn’t compromise in this area, for the benefit of both parties involved? It’s amazing how similar my brother’s and my brain are. Sometimes I think my wiring is the same as his, but I just learned how to fake it better. I understand why autistic kids pound their heads against the wall out of frustration. Not being able to communicate what you desperately want to communicate and not being understood is an intense drowning feeling. They’re lashing out, desperate for a way to be understood. I think being truly understood feels like an affirmation that you truly exist.

after the sun goes down is when i fit in lifetimes of thinking about you
you keep finding new places to hide
while i close my eyes and remember that icicle that was dangling
recklessly from the porch overhang that one morning,
your frosted breath grasping at its stoic impenetrability.
perhaps you weren’t even present then but it’s become my thing these days,
painting you into every picture.

i need to be understood. i need for that person to understand me. because if they can’t help me get my life’s “point” out of me, it’ll just die with me. whatever it is that i’m trying to communicate, i want someone who can also see it and can help me translate what i’m trying to say. it’s lonely in here, yes, because i’ve managed to lock myself in! i’ve been so embarrassed to tell people this but i do need someone who can open that door. there’s something i’m really, really, really passionate about, but i can’t seem to find exactly what it is.

I am trying to be kind, but I just don’t think he understands me.

I’m looking for a mentor. Someone gentle. That’s what I’m looking for right now.

I’m in the dark of my bedroom, with only the flickers of a candle keeping me company. I’m in my expanse of a bed, laying within its sea of dark green sateen sheets with my computer nestled against my body, its battery heating up my skin. Earlier, I had worked out until my entire body was exhausted, with every muscle feeling alive and aware. I came home and took a shower, and suddenly realized something I’ve been taking for granted that I really actually quite enjoy.

I love when I go through my rejuvenating ritual after a night of abusing my body at the gym, exercising my discipline by testing my body’s limits. When I come home and shower, I love how clean I feel and how good my body smells, how my body is so spent of energy that it melts into a state of blissful relaxation. I love how the heat of the hot water is still emanating from my skin when I smooth on softly perfumed lotion and slip between the deliciously cool sheets. I love being alone, safe within my private space which shields me from the night by turning the darkness into a blanket. I can thoroughly enjoy this moment, this invigorating bubble in time.space where I am free to be completely content.

I’m listening to David Seaman’s Back to Mine, the glow of the computer making me feel like I’m in the mystical cave that Plato was trying to describe. It’s this secret place you find by going on an expedition through the endless forest that makes up all that is unkown. And deep in those woods, it’s there, along with many other treasures that you may not even notice. I stumbled upon this place when I was young, and even though I had no idea what exactly it was, it felt good. It’s a place where you can distance yourself from this earthly plane and give yourself enough perspective in order to recognize the different planes. I feel like Einstein had a similar vision of this aspect of reality, which he was trying to explain with the theory of relativity. Space and time are closely tied together because we’ve stored them in our soul memories as a linear equation, but they provide the boundaries of our existence, what keeps it all together, like a giant sack. But if our existence’s real goal is directed towards expansion, then it’ll require deciphering the clues from the past as well as from those far away to move us towards that expansion. Sorry, I think my robot side just took over for a little bit.

Pretentions are so heavy. I think that’s what the people who created the bible were trying to symbolize by the cross Jesus carries. It’s the stuff that’s distracting us from our soul’s purpose, and are causing us to react to things rather than embody our pure spiritual state. It’s the hidden messages that are transcendental in the clues we left ourselves for our future soul incarnations that are the important ones for our growth. Life, seriously. It can be treated like a treasure hunt for clues that point to the universe’s secrets.

I am having trouble staying awake. I’m feeling so stagnant. I want to go explore the world again. Under the cover of night of course. What is it I love so much about thunderstorms and the darkness of night? They just feel so safe to me.

I’ve gotten into the habit of blogging in bed when I’m crazy tired. My inhibitions are completely turned off and what I write is pretty much the raw output of what’s in my head. I was hoping to watch Go tonight. I’ve unplugged my phone. I am having the time of my life here all by myself…I’m just happiest when I’m alone.

My coworker’s father has a lemon tree. I asked him to bring lemons to work tomorrow so that I could make lemonade since they’re 33 cents down at Ralph’s and I don’t wanna pay that kind of money for the weed of the citrus family. He asked me to call him at midnight to remind him. The midnight call turned into no promises of lemons tomorrow, dragging on instead into a sleepy conversation about nothing in particular, though he asked me: So what’s your deal? Are you a player?

What is my deal?

I can and can’t be trusted. I am respectful to good boys, devious to bad ones. I fear chains more than anything, and will meet any threat to my independence like a woman fighting for her life. I am the future mother of someone’s children, the future ex-wife of perhaps another, and the imaginary conduit of cheap motel room fantasies with multiple faceless strangers I have yet to meet. I’m an internet prophet with a heart of gold, whose witnessing of a room full of people having sex turned my stomach to the point I didn’t want to be touched for a year. My politics are liberally suspect and I have a secret life that may or may not exist, depending on what time of day you ask me. And I eat. Red. Meat.

Would you trust me if I were you? Can you really be so sure? I saw a man in my dreams once and he was made out of so many prisms, the light was trapped inside of him in incongruent, jagged little pockets. I wanted to offer him a cigarette but was terrified the smoke would aggravate his internal situation. I still wonder what I would have seen if I had offered him one. Does anyone really know what’s inside of them, inside each and every one of those little pockets that contains entire universes complete with logical orders and desires and personalities? Perhaps there is a demon trapped in every one of them, but when you put together two or more demons finding out that they’re no longer the sole powers in charge anymore, suddenly no one wants a democracy.

If you want to look under the surface of things, I can promise that you can breathe underwater. But you should never believe everything you see. Because when you see that light appear at the end of a murky tunnel, you’ll have to answer yourself one question:

Is that light a combination of every shade of a spectrum? Or is it just an illusion completely devoid of anything?

[this message brought to you completely sober and topless]

My Belated Recap of 2004…
(as found on a ragged piece of paper in my purse)

2004 was the year of…

full time work. living without a net. chiropractors, acupuncturists and physical therapists. self-medication self-obliteration, resurrection on a bottle of wine. ipod was my savior when i saw someone else’s reflection in a dirty puddle. double digits with his little boy asleep in the next room. living naked in a dark place where i didn’t belong. and a sense that i was doing it all to myself. kinky lawyers. faceless penpals. mistakes promptly erased, and the not so clear aftermaths. Frei Bros. vs. Daniel Gehrs. Air at the Hollywood Bowl. false friendships and lesbian dramas. and souvenirs…an undeniable ball of unresolved anger. forwards backwards forwards back. not so much a dance as a stumble. contemplation of death. celebration of life. the birth of two new souls. words as code (never let them know you’re drowning). Never let them know what you need. muse. bleeding. industrial strength soul purger. saying goodbye, saying goodbye, Saying Goodbye. You will learn to like the pain. Whoever said it’s better to tear off a Band-Aid quickly never had a wound that wouldn’t heal. frienemies. letting go. pretending to let go. Fuck letting go. the chase for money. Crying in the closet. Crying in the closet, just because.

Untitled Nancy Travis Pilot = Good Hair

Last night I went to hang out at the taping of Nancy Travis’s new UPN pilot because Reggie’s friend Marcus was in it. It’s based on these people who work at a morning show and it’s actually pretty damn good. It’s got Nancy Travis in it, as well as the cute non-Ryan Reynolds guy from Two Guys and a Girl and a Pizza Place, the black girl from Real World: Los Angeles, and this really funny actress who was kind of like a non-flamboyant Jack from Will & Grace–super oblivious, goofy and adorable. Too bad no one will ever see it because it’s gonna be on UPN.

The thing that impressed me was that everyone had good 360 hair (hair that looks good from all angles). They would have hair people come out and retouch their ‘dos after every take, and then the women would kind of walk around stiffly for the next few minutes like they had nail polish drying on their heads, until they finally forgot about having to preserve their perfect hair. I wish I had a hair team following me around. The way rich women out here have Hispanic nannies tailing them wherever they go…if I ever made a lot of money, I’d have an entire hair/make-up crew running around 2 steps behind me at all times.

The show is produced by Courteney Cox and David Arquette, who were both there. David was wearing this retro brown suit with white leather shoes, and looked like an undertaker on his way out to a night of disco dancing. When I was introduced to Nancy Travis, I could only remember her from this play that I’d seen her in a few years ago about stalking, which was a terrible play. I was pretty lucky that I had forgotten that she was in So I Married An Axe Murderer (one of my favorite movies) until this morning, because I would have surely embarrassed myself by gushing. Being on set just made me stir-crazy because ideally, I want to do a half-hour single camera show. I love TV because you get to develop your characters and they’re always growing and evolving. It’s like having make-believe human Tamagotchi pets, with me playing God. But then again, I’m probably not the kind of person who should be trusted with that kind of responsibility in front of a national audience. Remember, my GI Joes had sex.

Do any of you remember the show Off-Centre? That was a funny show, with Eddie Kaye Thomas from American Pie, John Cho and that hot English guy. Too bad no one ever saw it because it was on UPN.

I’m excited about Brandan Wright. His knuckles must drag!

Got this from Brad’s blog:

http://www.woostercollective.com/2005/03/wooster-exclusive-banksy-hits-new.html

This street artist snuck into major museums and hung up his own paintings. And they’re really great!

This one is so disturbing, I can’t stop looking at it:

http://www.banksy.co.uk/indoors/index.html

The New Pope Sounds Like a Real Asshole.

On Monday, Ratzinger, who was the powerful dean of the College of Cardinals, used his homily at the Mass dedicated to electing the next pope to warn the faithful about tendencies that he considered dangers to the faith: sects, ideologies like Marxism, liberalism, atheism, agnosticism and relativism — the ideology that there are no absolute truths.

“Having a clear faith, based on the creed of the church, is often labeled today as a fundamentalism,” he said, speaking in Italian. “We are moving towards a dictatorship of relativism, which does not recognize anything as definitive and has as its highest value one’s own ego and one’s own desires.”

Yes, it’s better for people to be dictated on how to live according to antiquated moral laws rather than gaining a true spiritual understanding of why it serves an individual as well as a collective be be a good person. And also, all those “soft” religions are the ones that are killing each other to prove themselves superior in the name of God.

No, wait. It’s those crazy fundamentalists who only see things in black & white who can’t live and let live or be tolerant of the uniqueness and individuality of God’s creatures. Speaking of tolerance:

He also accused the media of fueling the priest sex abuse scandals of recent years. “I am personally convinced,” he one told an interviewer, “that the constant presence in the press of the sins of Catholic priests, especially in the U.S., is a planned campaign.”

And Sister Jeannine Gramick, a nun who he ordered to stop ministering to gays and lesbians in the United States, called his election “devastating” for those who believe the Catholic Church needs to be more tolerant.

OF COURSE it was a planned campaign! There’s a problem in the church and it needs to be addressed! You can’t repress a human being of his urges and thoughts and expect him not to have extreme psychological issues. They need to allow priests and nuns to have sex, to have familes, to be gay, if they so choose. They need to be allowed to be human as well as conduits of spirituality, and I’m sure they can do this while living respectable, pious lives. A kid who self-mutilates to gain the attention of and to show his commitment to his father doesn’t get more love; he gets sent to a mental institution. This whole punishment to prove commitment makes no sense anymore. Wouldn’t being a true servant of God entail living a good life and leading others to do so as well? Wouldn’t the first step be to allow one to be human and experience the trials and tribulations as well as the beauty and comfort of being close to those you love? I know many preachers who are amazing people, leaders in their community, amazing mothers and fathers who lead by example. They are counselors to the community and leaders. They are well-adjusted human beings who can empathize as well as love and be loved. Doesn’t this just make more sense?

And it wrenches me up inside to know this is a step backwards for the gay community.

The theme of spirituality is unity and reunification. Unification between a child and a mother, a man and his community, a community and its father. Reunification of the body with the earth upon death, of the spirit with God upon resurrection. When we humans build hierarchies, we are building our own human Tower of Babel with our misguided leaders at the top. In that story, God didn’t want people to stay in the same place and build this tower to heaven, so he made them speak different langauges and they scattered. And as people slowly come together through the centuries, they learn to understand each other again despite different languages, and bring together their different understandings of God.

We all scatter upon birth but as we grow older and seek out communities, we share our different life experiences and life perspectives to understand what it is to be human, and what it is that we believe in. This is the natural order of things and the way things work. You give human beings space to be, and they will find their own path through life’s trials in order to reach the same destination.

The church is always trying to force things down people’s throats. The problem is that so much of the Bible and religious doctrine have been used to manipulate people for political means and in the end, so much has been lost. Antiquated moral laws no longer have any relevance and the people need a leader not a tyrant father. Good things happen under gentle but firm leadership, not sadistic and rigid domination. This is the basic tenant of good parenting.

And when we have someone who’s saying, let’s go back to making things black & white and telling people what they have to do and what they have to be, it leaves people with no room to grow and find their own ways back to their connection with God and the collective soul.

So indulgent it’s filthy…

Ryan Reynolds/Amityville

Interview with a Porn Star

So I’m at work doing my usual random searching, when a Craig’s List ad under the Platonic section about being an imprisoned Porn Star’s pen pal led me to search the web out of curiosity regarding why he was imprisoned. Somehow, half an hour later, I stumbled upon this interview with a female porn star named Mila. All I know is either she’s a Porn PR machine, saying just the right nasty things that lonely middle-aged virgins with potbellies and clammy hands want to hear, or she’s flat-out disgusting.

Here was an excerpt that makes me want to throw my brain into the dishwasher:
(A= Interviewer, M= This Nasty Ass Bitch, B= Her Manager)

A: Ever have any sexual partners that couldn’t handle what you were doing?
M: Well yeah, of course. I mean, some women don’t like being fisted in their asses, but I do.
A: I mean, anyone ever just go “Fuck! Stop!! I can’t take it” and just get up and leave?
M: Not like that, because that wouldn’t be professional. Instead of just getting up and leaving, they sit there with my foot up their ass and start crying. After I get my elbow out of their pussy they are usually a little better off and they relax a bit.

[I don’t know whether to laugh or cry]

A: Considering all the stuff you’ve had up your ass, do you find that having a bowel movement comes easier?
B: Dude… she was swimming in my pool the other day… when she dove in the pool, she dropped her day planner from her ass. It was from 1979. She thought it was lost forever!
M: No, my bowel movements are normal just like everyone else. Only difference is some of the things I find from like last week.
B: Speaking of bowel movements, we need to cut out that pop where the new girl accidentally dripped poop on your face.
M: That bitch shit in my mouth! I almost kicked her ass down the street!
B: It was an accident.
A: I need to hear details about this one…
B: She never heard of an enema. She’s Russian, fresh off the train.
A: It actually went IN your mouth?
M: Right in my mouth! I was like “Noooo!” and then next thing I know, I’m pinned down by Dave fuckin’ Hardman and a clump of shit and cum is smacking my face!
B: She did her first dp, and did not prepare. So, we had a mess, and the Queen took it like a champ.
M: The cum was okay, but the shit… well, you know I have to draw the line there.

*****

The moral of the story? At least there’s a line, kids. At least there’s a line…