Cock, I did it again

It happened again. I didn’t mean to say anything out loud, but I did.
I was leaving the post office and I saw a large, rotund Western man stroking a small, plump Filipina’s cheek. I exclaimed “eeeeeeeeeeew”, as in “I’m going to be sick”. Again, it came out loud, when I meant to say it in my head. Fortunately they did not hear me.
I see this is going to progress from here, and lead to tears, and I’m kind of looking forward to it. There are, after all, so many things out there that need addressing.

I'm sorry, bitch

I can't believe it's only me that does this.

When I'm walking down the street I comment on everyone I see in my head. I'm a pretty kind person on the outside, but inside my head I'm wicked. Things like "Better spend a little more time at the gym, and less time at the grocery store, you fat cow" if I see a large person carrying groceries, or "Hey look, it's a radical, Muslim cleric" if I see anyone with a beard. It's all, frankly, childish and amusing.

The other day, however, there was a stupid, stupid woman in front of me while I was crossing the road. At the other side she stopped and, I guess, took a little time with herself to think about what the fuck she was doing. The problem was, when she stopped she blocked my access to the sidewalk, leaving me standing in the road, legitimate prey for any vehicle that now had right of way. I had to walk sideways and squeeze between her and the railing to get to relative safety. As usual I had a barrage of abuse for her in my head, but in this case it came out, out loud, in real life, for all to hear. I think it was something like, "Get the fuck out of my way, bitch." She kind of deserved it, as I really could have died (well, extremely unlikely, but there was a very, very minute possibility). The point is, though, that I didn't mean to say it, I just meant to think it in my head, but it came out. I guess I'm getting sloppy. Maybe I now need to curb my extravagant and highly amusing abuse.

Sonofacunt.

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This is, by the way, a cheap Trilby I own, not my Stetson.

Running scared

1:30am, drifting back and forth between this world and the other one, I'm suddenly acutely aware that I am going to die, and I have 40 or so years, tops, to accomplish everything I want to do. This happens a lot, that flash of urgent panic that accompanies an unexpected, clear grasp of mortality. Must sleep, I am going to die, I have a world of things to do.

It's alright, ma

August 25th, yesterday, was my Mum’s birthday. Apologies for 30-or-so years of selfish, arrogant, ungratefulness. I hope, somehow, all the beautiful things I’ve seen in you over the years have become part of me in some abstract way.

Fighting lukewarm with lukewarm

I read this article (“Teen Christians campaign against pop culture”) today: http://edition.cnn.com/2007/US/08/22/gw.teen.christians/index.html
In response, I’d like to say:
"Hey everyone, let’s rally together and be really, really naughty. Ooooh, ooooh, the devil’s in me. Beer, tits."
Come on, it’s the 21st Century. Haven’t we progressed beyond christianity YET?

Don't drink and sleep

I had another date with melatonin 2 days ago, this time with a belly full of whiskey. When I got to bed I felt like I was crashing through a window, falling, and hitting the ground all at the same time. I was kind of enjoying it in a 'I've-never-experienced-this-kind-of-thing-before' way, but like all good high-impact crashes, I was unconscious before I could really get used to the experience.

Today we finished the magazine, and orchestra brochure, flier and ads. I'm going to bed on time with Richard Hawley.

Note to self: stop being such a pussy

Today in the men’s changing room of the gym there was a man having a coughing fit. It was kind of gross at first, but not a big deal; but he just kept going. I guess he was choking on someone’s hairspray or something. I was half naked and he was still coughing, and someone with a whiny, English accent said “Get a fucking glass of water for fuck’s sake”. I wanted to say something, like “if he could stop it, I’m sure he would”, but this poor guy had so much attention on him I didn’t want to make it worse, so I just stared into the pit of my locker and got naked like a good English person. Finally the guy got his stuff together and bolted out of the room, still coughing, and then the whiny-voiced English person said “Haven’t we fucking-well progressed since SARS?” Again, I finished my duties as if I had no idea what was going on, and went to shower.

I’d like to rewrite this:
Today in the men’s changing room of the gym there was a man having a coughing fit. An asshole said “Get a fucking glass of water for fuck’s sake”, at which point I went to the coughing guy and asked in English if he was okay. Then I asked in Cantonese if I could get him a glass of water, proving my intellectual and humanitarian superiority over English dick. At this point everyone in the changing room started to admire me. The coughing guy pleaded with me to get a glass of water, which I got for him. He thanked me, and left, feeling much better. Then I turned to English dick and said, “Is this how you treat strangers?”, and he, trying to be cool, said “What are you, the Lone Ranger?” and I said, “What the fuck is wrong with being the Lone Ranger?”, stepping up to him. Even though he’s bigger than me, he knows I will beat him down because I’m a man on fire. He says, “Cool it, man, I’m just having a laugh.” And I say, “Don’t fuck with me. You wanna talk shit like that and then try to act like it’s a mutherfucking joke? Show some respect or keep your goddamn moth shut you sonofacunt.” At which point he packs up and scurries out and everyone thinks I am really, really cool.

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It’s another night of Richard Hawley’s “Danny”. His new album came out yesterday, but I’m not ready to buy it. I want to sit down with a tall glass of whisky and no pressing jobs and listen to it. I’m going to England next month with my baby doll, and I arrive in London the day after he plays there. Goddamnsonofawhore. You think you’ve got it bad in Iraq? You should listen to my troubles.

Let's get low!

Melatonin. It's amazing. If I do 2 overnights in a row it becomes impossible for me to rebalance my schedule, because your body just desperately needs sleep, so you take it at the first possible chance, and from then on your routine is fucked. I never really believed it could work, but, good goddamn. 20 minutes after taking it I was getting drowsy, after 40 minutes I was cranky and had no patience for my computer which was stalling. Within an hour I couldn't stay awake another minute. This has got to be illegal. Since then I've felt calm, subdued. I like it. Now I just need another pill to make me wide awake, and it'll be just like I'm not taking pills at all.

I remember Paris

As you can probably tell, my hair was pretty messy when I drew this.
As often, there’s too much to write, so I’ve dutifully nullified my mind with dark rum and video games so as not to be too poignant.
To start with, I need to mention that I keep remembering Paris, and that night in the F1 Motel with my good wife (then girlfriend), and the white wine and cheap pizza in the sports arena restaurant and the room and her with me that night.
Next, I need to say, I’ve had a heavy heart all weekend because I had a virtual disagreement with one of my best friends – your hero and mine, Andrew Collins. He said Lilly Nash (the number-one singer who sounds just like Kate Allen) was great, but I said she was rubbish. This has bothered me for so many reasons. For one, he bases his argument on thought and experience, but I base mine on whatever sounds most entertaining at the time. This makes it hard to argue if it turns out the person you are corresponding with doesn’t immediately agree with you. There are probably other reasons, but they’re not entertaining enough to remember/mention here. I may need to cross him off my ‘best friends’ list, but like many of my best friends, I haven’t actually ever met him, so this gets confusing; and, all the same, I genuinely like him very much. I just may need to rise above.

Well, enough of the abstract, let’s talk more concrete. My good wife and I are currently looking for a place to buy in NY. This satisfies both her innate need to shop, and my innate need to conquer the world. I don’t really like America, but I have learned to speak ‘New Yorkian’. This mainly consists or referring to streets – like: “I know the greatest hummus shop, it’s on 32nd and 5th, or is it 32nd and 6th?” and then you need to throw in some racial element, like “it’s run by a bunch of jews who’ve owned it since the 40’s” or “there’s a Puerto Rican restaurant nearby – my friend swears it’s the best place in New York, but I went there and, to be honest, I’ve had much better fajitas at Hernando’s on 41st Street”. It really doesn’t matter if you’re accurate or not, as the whole world is full of bullshit anyway. All that matters is me and baby and a long night of kissing and cuddling.

Never mind Elvis, here are the bollocks

Everyboby was looking at me on the street today. One person even came up, and stood right in front of me looking into my eyes, smiling. I didn’t know what to do, so I kind of looked friendly and disaffected at the same time, and they backed away. What happened? Am I finally commanding the attention I deserve? Or did I accidentally leave the blinds open last time I masturbated? Either way, I like it.

How to proceed

6am. Impatient, I pour ink into my hands to draw with that. I end up saturating everything I drew. I have ruined everything.
Now I understand. It’s all gone horribly wrong, but I’ve fixed it now.

Flip, Flop and Fly

I’m thinking about Johnnie Ray tonight. You can’t help but love the man - a man who had teenagers screaming at his feet before rock’n’roll was ever heard of. The man had no foundation to base his act on, he was just a wild, half-deaf, bi-sexual man who destroyed pianos and cried on stage and drove the kids wild. Then he went and died in drunken obscurity, overshadowed by the sensation of Elvis and the genius of Chuck Berry. If there was a god, or justice in the world, we’d all have a statue of him in our homes to worship every day. As there isn’t, well, I hope he had a hell of a time while he was on top.

Stop being so close-minded

I searched the Bloggers who also like Clint Black. I had to go through about 5 pages of results before I found a decent person who didn’t list “Military”, “Jesus” or “Hunting” in their interests. I’ve always bragged that I’m ready to try anything, but I realize now that there are so many things I would never go near. I need to diversify, stop being so close-minded. Maybe I will go to that church of scientology introduction meeting after all. Maybe I should take up yoga. I might even start prostituting children. No more holier-than-thou attitude. We are, after all, all the same ... or perhaps I should embrace racism?

No, fuck it. What a bunch of cocks all those violent, hateful people must be.

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Tonight, Richard Hawley's "Danny" is the most beautiful song ever recorded. The man must have a soul deeper than Hell itself.

Knowledge forsakes me again

Today I sat in a cab, stuck in traffic, for over 15 minutes. Finally traffic started moving, we turned the corner, and my destination was right there.

Anti-anti-establishment

I have a very big problem. I’m fixated with Clint Black. He’s a semi-cheesy, over-produced country singer. I have no problem with indulgence, but I just learned he vehemently supported George Bush and the Iraq war. What a cock. Why can’t he contain his violence to more acceptable outlets, like wife-beating or substance abuse? Why does it have to be so corporate? So … mainstream? It’s not cool. I feel so punk liking him. So anti-anti-establishment.

Nobody fucks with Tony Montana

I saw Peter O’Toole once. He was playing in “Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell”. Aunty Gill (aka Aunty Jill) and I waited at the stage exit for him after the play. Impatient, Aunty Jill ventured inside to find him, and soon came running outside screaming “Dominic, do you have a pen?”, followed by the man himself. Talk about presence. At the same time, at the end of the alley, a man was screaming, “You wanna fuck with Tony Montana? NOBODY fucks with Tony Montana!” Mr O’Toole looked up quickly and, making sure it wasn’t anything to do with him, resumed his previous cool.
That’s it. Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell, Peter O’Toole is cool, nobody fucks with Tony Montana. These are the rules, and I never forgot them.

God is from Belgium

I listened to Plastic Bertrand’s “Ca Plane Pour Moi” on repeat while drawing this. It just might be the perfect song. Not much surprises me, but I’m still surprised I lived my long and absurd life for 35 years without ever hearing this perfect song. What if I’d died 10 months ago, never having heard this, forever thinking Elton Mortello wrote the original (“He gave me head…”)? Imagine, slipping into nothingness never having heard this ridiculous 80’s Belgian pop/punk masterpiece. Playing it on constant repeat is no longer enough, I am now listening to it unsynchronized on both my headphones and my stereo. Oh god it’s beautiful. Oh god, have I just discovered God? Oh God, you’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.

Exposed, sort of

Being a portrait photographer has certain advantages, for example, when you need a new passport photo taken and you want it to be just right. I devoted last Saturday to this. I started pretty much as I usually look (except that I just dyed my hair black). Not satisfied with my natural state, I put on a suit. Still not happy, I combed my hair. Then came a little foundation, then mascara, then I darkened my eyebrows a little, then I added a tie. It looked pretty good, so I put on my best Mickey Rourke half jolly / half don’t-give-a-fuck smile, and shot away. Afterwards I smoothed my complexion a little on the computer, made my colour a little more healthy, removed the sty in my eye and softened the lines around my eyes. Smashing. I couldn’t get rid of the ‘lazy-eye’ that seems to set in after a few weeks of skipping sleep, but I figured that added to the persona somehow. I really started to like the new me. I realize it doesn’t actually represent me very well, which may not be entirely appropriate, as it is a passport photo, but hell, why limit yourself to, well, yourself?

I realised, also, my face has 2 completly different sides. I've seen this when i draw, but everything's exagerrated when i draw. Now I really see it though, if you draw a line down the centre of my face the left and the right seem to be doing their own, separate thing. I wonder if this is common.

Some best friends are better than others

This is my best friend Piggy wearing my Stetson hat. Ha, isn’t he silly?
I had another best friend when I was a child, he was called David Granham. I once told him that inanimate objects had feelings. The next day he came to me, all mad, saying he’d talked to his parents and I’d lied to him and inanimate objects didn’t having feelings at all. I didn’t agree. I knew, technically, toys and rocks and balls didn’t have life, but I knew at the same time humans projected their own feelings onto objects, just the same as they project their own feelings onto animals and other people. They personify and distort everything, regardless, and they were so corrupt that saying your dog loved you was the same thing as saying your TV loved you, or your grandmother loved you, or your god loved you. It was all free interpretation, based on what you believed through your constantly distorted perceptions and beliefs. Maybe your mother didn’t love you, but she said she did. Maybe your favorite slingshot was your best friend, but it never said so. You had emotions, and you shared them; sometimes with a friend, and sometimes with a bird on your window sill. Being seven years old at the time I couldn’t articulate this very well, so I just said he was very stupid, with such force that the conversation stopped there.
Anyway, this is my best friend piggy wearing my Stetson hat. Oh, what a card!