Inside

Do What Thou Wilt, with an emphasis on gratuitous sex and blissful drug consumption

These ain't no hood rats

A couple of my girls thought it would be cute if they ran around deep in the hood while in NYC. It wasn't long before they were huddled scared at a bus stop waiting to get the hell out before they fine asses got jumped. These hoes, man. Can't tell them nothing.

Capitalism

"Mmm on set waiting to do my scene. But so far I have sucked 3 cocks and gotten fcked by 2 guys lol." - Katie Kox

The monarch's big day

Wake up. Contemplate the profundity of existence. Check the weather channel. Sunny and hot—imagine that.

Shower, get dressed. CNN drones in the background. People are mad at the President for reasons that are not wholly clear. It seems to have something to do with the fact that he’s an “uppity negro” that doesn’t realize that even half-black people have no right to make major decisions that will affect the country. I mean, I realize that he was voted into the office and all, but there are limits. This is still America, right?

Somewhere in there I smoke my first bowl of the day. Inside my head thoughts slowly clank to life, like a rusty old machine that hasn’t been turned on in years.

Pack my shit (computer, power cord, Odwalla bar, etc) into a briefcase and head out.

Get in my car and start down Olympic towards the office. Car makes weird sounds that are cause for concern. I promise myself I’ll take it to the shop soon. I’ve been telling myself this for months now.

Attempt to make it to the office without any road-rage meltdowns, which in L.A. is never an easy feat.

Pull into the parking structure. Park on Level 3. Clip my ID badge to my belt. Climb the stairs to the top of the parking structure. Make sure the letter is still in my back pocket. The sky is so blue it hurts my eyes. Below, fellow drones march listlessly towards their own destinations, oblivious to the fact that there’s nothing at the end of their journey but a hole in the ground or the inside of a large oven. I notice an attractive woman below. She’s young, late teens, maybe early Twenties. She’s beautiful, with flowing dark hair and a tailored business suit. She has the smile and gait of someone that’s really going somewhere, with a bright, vital future in store.

The woman is talking on her cellphone, oblivious to my presence a few stories above her. When my plunging body lands on her and kills us both, she literally has no idea what hit her.

It’s my little parting gift to her. No need to suffer the crushing disappointment that surely lies ahead, the cruel way time would eventually strip her of her looks. She wouldn’t have to endure men that would eventually look through he as if she were no longer there when she gets old. No child would break her heart by growing up to become a whore on the streets of Baltimore that lets guys from the suburbs videotape her sucking them off in their expensive cars to afford another small bag of blessed death to slowly take her away from all of the horror.

Instead, just silence, peace and the warm, comforting embrace of nothingness.

Occult of personality

This is some creepy shit I found on the internet today. Actually, it found me.

All I know is that now I want to be a Mason. That shit sounds better than Scientology.

Objectification

Question of the week

Question: “Do you think you are clearer after being sick because being sick forced you out of some habits?” (Courtesy: Otto)

Answer: Yes.

The conduit between inspiration and myself is more open that it’s been in a very long time. But illness always causes me to shut down and run on reserves, which allows for a kind of mental sloughing. My only concern during those times is getting better. I wash away any stressful thoughts with the cathode ray. When I can find something like a “Law and Order: SVU” marathon, I’m all good.

But this particular spell was augmented by my recent trip home.

One of the aspects of home that has always appealed to me (even more so now) is the relative isolation, peace and quiet. Some look at it as desolation and hopelessness, and there’s some of that, too.

But the wide-open urban space, coupled with a decided lack of humanity, creates a landscape that sings to me with a pretty song.

I can imagine how it used to be, years before I existed. When those streets teemed with life, energy, and hope. I dream of what they can become in the future, and the possibilities are truly endless. I get kind of sad when I realize there’s a good chance those possibilities will materialize too far in the future for any of us to savor.

The people that do remain are quite the fascinating collection. I’m particularly attracted to the women (imagine that)—there’s a steely kind of resolve there I rarely experience anymore--but not at the expense of their femininity. If anything, they amplify their sexuality in a kind of reaction to the bleakness of the environment.


Which is why I’m returning for another long weekend there for the Thanksgiving holiday. That’s also the weekend where a certain personal project I’ve been avoiding for far too long will begin in earnest. The goal is to have a finished product in my hands by the end of the year. It’s been honed down to one of three projects, actually. I’m going to let time reveal to me which one is the first to fall. That’s exciting.

But the rather consistent lack of cultural stimulation (unless you really search for it) creates a blank canvas on which it’s easy to draw up something original. I feel like I get so much done there, and fast.

I have entertained the notion of returning there for an extended period of time, but not quite yet. I could definitely see hunkering down for a spell and really getting to work.

But for right now, I’m making good time in the rat race of L.A. It’s been a bitch of a fight, but I’ve actually carved out a nice little place for myself here.

Still, I look around and see faint outlines of what my environment should really look like right now. I’m realizing to bring those fuzzy images into focus is going to require discipline, determination and simply doing the work.


But I am up to challenge. This is what life is all about (for me, anyway). I’ve been training for and working towards this moment my entire life.

Nervous, excited, and kind of anxious. All good signs.