Alright now... I'm just gonna blurt this out real quick because I think that's the only way it's going to get out. And it has to get out or else I'm gonna go crazy. In fact, I think it's way too late for that. Crazy has done already gone done, and I'm okay with that. Now it's really all about the recon mission to get my god-given goodness gracious back.
What exactly is the problem? FREEDOM! That's right. Eric Fromm nailed the nail right on its nail-ness. Lord, protect me from what I want because it seems that whatever it is I could probably have it if only I opened my arms and said yes, yes, and always yes. However, maybe not. And I'm okay with that, too. The good news is I don't have to know and I never get to anyhow. Ole!
It has occurred to me, several times, usually separated by several years, and always with great and forceful intensity, that we really do, very much, get to determine the definitions of certain things, for ourselves, such as: love, god, relationships, family, faith, right, wrong, reasonable, possible, and then some and probably everything else as well.
So why then, oh land of infinite possibility and boundless becoming, why do I choose to limit myself*? (*if in fact I do choose at all, but I will of course impose SOME limits on the various philosophical espionages that I will attach in this my much overdue essay written for an audience of one) Why am I imprisoned by these small and fearful thoughts of HOW to love, how to exist in a relationship, how to be a member of a family? Why, as such a seemingly creative person in other aspects of my life, do I adopt a strange status-quid-pro-quo personae when I find myself in the midst of a romantic exchange?
In other news... what I fear is that I may be entering into a most ludicrous selfish phase. Horror of horrors! I have begun to think troublesome* thoughts. (*Troublesome, of course, only when I begin to judge them from the danger zone of future-thought and possible outcomes. In the moment these thoughts are most delightful!)
I admit, I have even begun to consider "alternative lifestyles" such as polyamory, ethical slutting, so-called open relationships, farming and other agriculture pursuits. But there it is again! Labels! Even "experimental" is a label. A limit. Where is openness?
So, I'm reading The Power of Now now, like so many other jackasses, and it is indeed working its magic on me. It feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeels good. There, I admitted it. There is stillness! There it is! There is the moment! Ahhhhh....
I can't stop masturbating in every spare second I have. (Fear not, I don't have many spare seconds. My health and wellness is assured.) And usually they are all falling right before bed, whilst my quasi-temporary alleged roommate is in the shower, and I'm reading the Power of Now. Never do I feel so in the spirit of things as when in the grips of a shuddering climax. There is the Now! It is here! Now! Aye!
So, because I am sure that I have not been clear at all, what I am suggesting is that here, on the eve of the coming of my 31st birthday, I am. And what am I?
I am fresh out of a 2 year relationship, yet my much hoped for and anticipated "freedom" and "experimental phase" has been somewhat "compromised" by various new "situations" that have arisen in the life of one J. Crockett, so-called "maverick director" according to the god folks of the RedCat Theater in Los Angeles.
What could be called the biggest play of my career is about to go onto the stage next weekend, what could be called the biggest show of the Evangenitals' career recently went down at the Knitting Factory, and what could be called the greatest year of my life is about to begin, again. So, all in all, all is well! All is well!
However, or rather, not however but AND in addition to all of this, I'm feeling good, looking pretty alright, and I'm as horny as a dolphin on ecstasy.
Oh yes, and did I mention that I am now a high-powered executive in the sex toy industry, an ordained minister, working on my PhD in Philosophy, and I have been on a spiritual quest clean and clear of all drugs and alcohol for nearly 5 years. SPICE IS NICE!
I believe, in honor of 31, in addition to some serious social activism and spreading of peace on earth, it is high-time for the straight pepper diet! At least, that's how I'm feeling NOW.
POWER OF NOW!
(at this point, after exclaiming this, you must imagine that I rocket through the ceiling at great speed, one fist thrust in the air with a smile on my face, into the ether, to fight crimes of minimal consequence)
I am full of love.... and balderdash.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Suffice it to say I'm feeling a little o'erwhelmed as of late. Indeed, sir. I am.
Life has gone on and continued to be full, full, and deliciously full. My cup overfloweth, and I am doing my damnedest to stay grateful for the all of it all, and not to whine like a little bitch about how many gifts are bestowed upon me on a daily basis.
I am, however, a bit 'o the little bitch, and I do whine, occasionally. I apologize.
Much of this current 'bout of anxious too-muchness has to do with the fact that I have a cold. Again. It is hot as fucksocks in Los Angeles, and it seems strange plain wrong that a person could have a sniffling, wintery cold in such intense heat.
There's that, and then there is the issue of the scourge which has befallen my face.
Whilst driving in my car the other day, some 'thing' attacked my face. I didn't really think much of it at the time. It didn't really register as a sting or a pain, just a sudden realization of a bump on my face. My face.
I scratched at it absent-mindedly on the way home, and by the time I reached my bathroom mirror to investigate, I had a huge, spreading bruise on my check. Flesh eating nano-spiders was one of the first things that came to mind, shortly after the Book of Job.
Now that bruise has become a strange scab-like somethingorother. I have no idea what is going on... on my face.
I blame Bruce Sterling.
If only I had installed an RFID tag in this MARK OF THE DEVIL then it could be available for bidding on Ebay right now.
I am, firmly, in the ism-schism.
God help us all.
Life has gone on and continued to be full, full, and deliciously full. My cup overfloweth, and I am doing my damnedest to stay grateful for the all of it all, and not to whine like a little bitch about how many gifts are bestowed upon me on a daily basis.
I am, however, a bit 'o the little bitch, and I do whine, occasionally. I apologize.
Much of this current 'bout of anxious too-muchness has to do with the fact that I have a cold. Again. It is hot as fucksocks in Los Angeles, and it seems strange plain wrong that a person could have a sniffling, wintery cold in such intense heat.
There's that, and then there is the issue of the scourge which has befallen my face.
Whilst driving in my car the other day, some 'thing' attacked my face. I didn't really think much of it at the time. It didn't really register as a sting or a pain, just a sudden realization of a bump on my face. My face.
I scratched at it absent-mindedly on the way home, and by the time I reached my bathroom mirror to investigate, I had a huge, spreading bruise on my check. Flesh eating nano-spiders was one of the first things that came to mind, shortly after the Book of Job.
Now that bruise has become a strange scab-like somethingorother. I have no idea what is going on... on my face.
I blame Bruce Sterling.
If only I had installed an RFID tag in this MARK OF THE DEVIL then it could be available for bidding on Ebay right now.
I am, firmly, in the ism-schism.
God help us all.
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