February 13, 2014

February 13, 2014

As I was falling back asleep this morning, I heard the alarm go on, which automatically plays Johann Strauss’ “Blue Danube.” With that melody it never gets me out of bed quickly, especially its introduction which so lazily causes me to drift in a gentle sway of the river itself.  After an hour of making a concerted effort to take one of my legs onto the floor beside the bed, I eventually have to pee.  As the urine flows out of my penis, I whistle, out-of-tune of course, Blue Danube, which somehow controls the piss movement into something enjoyable.

Since last week I got a writing job for the newspaper “La Citoyenne” which is edited by Hubertine Auciert, a well-known feminist, and an incredible boss.  She basically requested that I do a series of articles on Los Angeles, from my point-of-view of course, and if possible perhaps make it into a guided tour seen through my eyes.  She asked me to list shops, hotels, record stores and book stores - that sort of thing.  To me this was a dream job, the thing is she can only pay me in Euros, since the paper is printed and published in Paris.   This actually works out Ok for me, because I have often had this fantasy that one day I will sneak out of the U.S. to go to Paris to live under another name.  It doesn’t make sense, but the fact that I will have a small income in another country, made it sound so sexy to me.

I’m fortunate that I can write 60 to 80 pages per day, without getting into a sweat.  Some are addicted to sunlight, but I have a thing for the solitude relationship between writer and computer screen.  I love the Macintosh Pages application, where I can endlessly make choices between words and sentences.  A day doesn’t go by, where have I made my commitment of at the very least 60 pages, I have been now part of a blissful state of mind.  Some find satisfaction by being paid in gold, but mine is being paid by the word, hell, even by the letter!

To ease the strain of writing (if any, duh!) I need to have sex at least once a day.  I started the art of making love when I was 15, and I haven’t stopped.  I mostly pay for my sexual conquests, because the business transaction is a turn-on for me.  I’m a firm believer that there should be a customer and there should be someone to supply a service to that customer.  If the world was run that way, it would be a sort of paradise for those who can, of course, afford to pay.

Once I get that over with, I can fully concentrate on the writing for the day.  For my work with “La Citoyenne”, I do a bit of research.  Right now I am totally fascinated with downtown Los Angeles.  I love to hang out at St. Vincent Court, which is off Seventh Street, west of Broadway.  It’s an odd area, due that it looks like a European arcade from the 19th century.   There is the incredible Pasquini Espresso Bar, where I often sit to have an espresso and look over my notes.  Then I head over to the Downtown Library on 5th and Flower to do my column and work on my short stories as well.

One time I was challenged that I couldn’t possibly write 60 pages per day.   I took this as a challenge and arranged to have a glass cage built for Human Resources in Chinatown, and sat down in front of an invited audience and they could watch me write 60 or more pages.   Each member of the audience paid $10 to enter.  By the time, I finished my little narrative (60 pages long of course) I was able to print out the work and gave it to each member of the audience.

In the long run, if it's 60 pages or 60 words, what is important is what I write, and how I write it.  Everything else is gravy on the plate that is life.  All I know is that after a day’s work of making love, then writing, I am ready for bed, and there I put on the gorgeous melody of “Blue Danube Waltz, and dance myself to a somber sleep.