INTERVIEWS AND SUCH
I live in a perpetual prolificacy-discouraging state of being deposed at a sick velocity by the infinite centepeding queue of aprés-mon-article articles online. An Ellis Island-esque retitling and brushing aside of content by the move-along-nothing-to-see-here, mop-as-baton-impatient-palm-slapping retired-gestapo-cum-janitors of our collective, rabid inattentiveness. But I keep a very heathy diet.
Ask Us About The Degree To Which A Fuck We Give
[Disingenuous mock applause followed by gesticulation of sucking an imaginary dick]
Sometimes I have ideas that feel like an adopted child who’s grown too big to carry.
Today: Playwriting and papaya.
Tonight: Black tie conversations in the form of haymakers. Rabble rousing. Calumny.
Morning: Stretching. Cooking. Reading. Light Interneting.
Mid-Morning: Tennis Playing.
Noon: James Beard House Lunching. HSBC Pit Stopping.
Early-Afternoon: NYC Ballet Dress Rehearsing (Viewing. Not Dancing).
Rest-of-the-Afternoon: Writing
Early-Evening: Boxing / Heavy Lifting
Mid-Evening: Cooking
Late-Evening: Reading. Pot Smoking. Writing. Alan Watts-ing. Sleeping.
Passingly wondered last night at Kenmare: The slow but serious effect Angelinos have had on NYers: nobody keeps their promises anymore.
The laugh is half empty.
1) There are over 2.3 million people (id est, 1 in every 18 men) currently incarcerated in/by the United States. Disturbing conclusions available probably mainly regarding the Justice System, but also about people in general, if you wanted to go that route.
2) June 1 is the first day of a Hurricane Season that will source its cyclones with water suffering ceaseless contamination by between 500k-1mil gallons of oil per day. P.S. Irresolute. It will hail fire, and many people will earnestly believe it’s the wrath of their notorious god.
All sad facts for devotees to religious fiction, a fraction of males, and residents of life. But on the brighter side: SPORTS!
Not yet 100. Hers was the first face I put on this whateveritis. I love you.
"…you’re completely impossible and out of control, with some sort of drug problem and a fixation on what you consider Rick Von Sloneker’s wickedness. You’re a snob, a sexist, totally obnoxious, and tiresome. And lately, you’ve gotten just weird. Why should we believe anything you say? "
"I’m not tiresome."
"…destiny always leans trenchcoated out of an alley with some sort of Psst that you usually can’t even hear because you’re in such a rush to or from something important you’ve tried to engineer.”
