lies, lies, lies v 2.0

I suppose the whole 2.0 thing renders lies, lies, lies the original. …the first.

Lies, Lies, Lies

version

1

…point

…oh.

or whatever.

And whereas in any medium other than tech-shit, the original is the best. Superlative, even…. pure. When entering this Brave New World of version-istic technology… of a product revealed with such melodramatic grandiose gravitas (bullshit)… innovation, as no one could have ever imagined, showered unto the masses… the original is just a test subject. The hype, like millions of smoke screens (à la a foggy carcinogenic smoke-filled bar in Manhattan in the late 1990′s), protects (hides) its status as ‘test subject’ saving its reputation as ‘so fuckin’ cool… so, like, right now… I’m dying… I totally just died because this thing is so fuckin’… I can’t even… I just… I can’t deal’ and the pseudo-communist (more dirty hippies in communes; less “we don’t need no education” meat grinder marching) idea of ‘everyone’s opinion will be heard’…

woah, I digress.

I’m done with all of that. right now.

I’m just sayin’, that whole original lies, lies, lies thing… it happened. The call-in. All that.

And maybe I want to cover all my bases (ass), but:

Things one may want to know (or not)…

I was drunk at the time.
It was approx 1 1/2 years ago.
Yes, I may sound like a child. …but I’m so fuckin’ not 12.
Adderall is a raging dirty crack whore mirage.

what-the-fuck-evah.

so… oh and these call-in shows where celebrity experts (regardless of experience and degrees attained)…. I mean they cater to-, strive on, rely on… the damaged, crack whore who may or may not find some comfort in listening to a ‘professional’ on the radio.

all like, “maybe they care… about me”.

stupid.

…I mean, all intentions may, in fact, be pure. And this is all the stuff that I could have gone without learning.

… one rarely just falls into an open man-hole cover of “celebrity”- anything.

It happens.

But…

…I need to take a shower.

I Left My Right Brain in New York

06 Jan 2010

I left my right brain in New York

…when I moved away.

…5 years ago.

I guess this was always sort of my intention. This move isn’t as spontaneous and all “look at that chick do crazy spontaneous things without thinking about them” as an indefinite trek across the country with no job nor place to stay awaiting me might, at first, appear. There was a degree of rationalization masquerading as conscious decision-making present.

Go to this new town, straighten-out, do my version of the business thing (in the appropriate business)… and return somewhat balanced. Able to converge the right and left hemispheres of my brain, I would not spiral out of control for my art and/or art-induced lifestyle.

Or that was the rationalization anyway.

Then there is also the whole “what if” thing that happens when one is ‘over it’.

All about mass destruction and creation and learning and things having to be soooo interesting and being sooo passionate that your heart explodes in a mass blood shower over all of your internal organs every single second of every single day. I mean, it is pure… it is lovely… it is what everything actually should always be all the time. It is, in a word, me. Characteristically and, at certain points, retarded-intense. And, yes, sometimes… melodramatic. I can dig it.

But keeping up this sort of momentum for an extended period of time (especially after Frank up and disappears with his car and his hat that I think he may wear and, most importantly, this meth-addicted chick’s meth) becomes a bit more difficult… then alternatingly somewhat questionable.

Though not really “questionable” in a way that your author would allow her brain to recognize. I mean, this sort of thing had been my thing my entire life up until this point. I was all eat/drink/sleep this bleeding-heart version of ‘creativity’ and stimulation since I was born. Well, not that specific version. It had snow-balled, yes. But why shouldn’t it? And so, I didn’t really know, understand or care to value anything else.

This is where the “what if” came about. What if… I just decided to do the opposite (even though I had no experience of what that was)? What if I tried to do the adult thing… the responsibility thing… the not living in a proverbial crackshack in Chelsea thing?

What if… I tried to live amongst the normal people… and then possibly, one day become them-thing?

I’m lying though, really. The impetus… the catalyst for any of this “what if” and “maybe this sucks so I should change things” was simply… the question: what was I going to do without meth? How would I be able to function?

And in this self-preserving manner, the broader truth of what California is had to be kept under wraps. You know, what this place actually is. Empty, shallow, devoid of any stimulation or movement… you know, the yushe (usual). Plus, this sort of pre-thinking destroys anything that might be able to flourish.

24 Feb 2010 (update)…

So, it has come to a head. All of the aforewritten, old news. Or rather, now actualized, redundant to think about.

I have raped this town to the degree of which I have the capacity to do so.

Its time to go back. Actually, its time to go forward.

The thing is, though just a general blur of a plan, I actually have learned certain skills non-inate to me with my head-first slingshot rubber band fling into an unknown world. A world of talk and selling, name-dropping and nepotism, cultivating relationships based on personal gain; the world of the middleman. And momentary identity crises and personal opinion aside (I hate it)… this is a large part of how the world works in general.

And I actually learned.

Now, I’ll certainly never be a wheeler-deeler or anything resembling this sort of thing (by choice and by skill) but that was never the intent. The verbally retarded, mute, real-time communicator version of myself that existed five years ago has evolved through this whole process. Absorbed this sort of thing. Right brain/Left brain moving just a bit closer toward each other in the sandbox.

And I do feel different. More whole. Comfortable with existing in life. Free. …er.