December 16, 2014

December 16, 2014

I have such a sad face, and I ‘m not sure if I was placed on this world to laugh or cry.   Somewhere in my past, I did get to the fork in the road, and I chose laughter over crying.  I don’t see the point of wasting tears, when it can be utilized for watering a devalued forest.  The truth is, at one time, I had a great deal of money.  I spent it all, mostly on pleasure of all sorts, than practical uses.  Or I should say my practical uses were women, wine, and vinyl collecting.   I have this odd collection of every recording possible of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony.  The conductor Thomas Beecham made this comment about the third movement of this symphony: “What can you do with it?  It’s like a lot of yaks jumping about.” Still, the second movement is surely the greatest piece of music ever.  The movement being so popular also gives it a sense of sin, so it’s “strange how potent cheap music is.”

With the 7th Symphony as my personal soundtrack, I wander through my life from one disaster to another - yet with my chin up, I just try to stay true to my roots.  I often develop intense crushes on girls that I can’t afford.  The scent of promise that is them as they walk by, is too much of an allure for me.    I remember being fixated on one, that was extremely beautiful and young, and all I could think of is the possibility of her giving me a hand-job, while she’s wearing her finest dress.  I would also require that she wore no underwear as well.   I have this obsessive set of rules when it concerns my sexual practices.  I can imagine it is very difficult for the female in question to follow through my specific acts of desire.  I eventually have to go out and pay for these services.  It’s very dispiriting, but at the same time, I know when I do pay for the service, I get what I need.  Supply and demand.   Surely I’m not the only one in the world that has specific needs?

Yet, I can’t wait till the world comes to me, alas I must come to the world. "To create a work of art is to create the world."  I used to have anxiety attacks about losing all my money, but now that it is gone, I feel lightheaded and free.   I can no longer afford a woman like I'm accustomed to, and I have to pretty much depend on Trader Joe’s wine supply for my thirst, but I’m still standing and writing.  “Everything starts from a dot.” After that my imagination runs free on whatever landscape I choose for my narrative.  The thing is I have to use the same determination of wanting pleasure from a woman and transforming it into a desire for writing or creation.  “What I adore is supreme professionalism.  I’m bored by writers who can write only when it’s raining.”

I dress up as much as possible, even though I don’t see people any more.  But it’s imperative to make an appearance in front of my work-space, in other words, my laptop.  All I have in this world is my laptop, and that is not by choice, but by my new-found poverty.   I lived fully, expensively, and now I'm left with a head full of memories that will lead me on to hopefully, a future of some sort.  Although thinking that a series of “memories” will lead me to a future, seems to me to be an absurd joke of some sort.  “I have a memory like an elephant.  In fact, elephants often consult with me.”

Nonetheless, now, looking outside my window, and watching the rain, I know that I just have to overcome that.  A moment of sadness when I’m writing a comedy.  My life cannot possibly be regarded as anything else but a series of comedic moments, played out by the biggest fool on this planet.   What I do remember are past pleasures that appear to be nothing but  a flicker on a 16mm projection.  Wealth cannot only be measured by currency.  The taste of women, and I remember every taste, every unique scent - which rolls around my tongue even as I write at this moment.  I know I leave myself open to ridicule, but this is all I can offer at the moment.  “I’ll go and see anything so long as it amuses me, or moves me.  If it doesn’t do either I want to go home.”   Home being the 7th Symphony and my laptop.   So dear reader, do read and remember, “I love criticism just so long as its unqualified praise. ”