In one month, I will have successfully completed another fun journey around the sun. To prep for the occasion, let’s all watch this Aries-inspired makeover.
I thought I was the only person who thought about opening up a fight garden.
What a time to be alive. Black is white, up is down, truth is false and nothing makes sense anymore. On top of everything, The Supreme Court did two infuriating things recently: it allowed Trump to reinstate parts of his awful ban-which-is-actually-a-ban and it agreed to hear the case of the Christian Colorado baker who refused his services to a gay couple. SCOTUS will attend to both cases after their summer recess, during which time hopefully none of them will die.
(Note: I originally posted the following on Facebook, but I liked it so much that I thought total strangers deserved to see it as much as casual acquaintances and intimate relations. I apologize to all in my Facebook community who no longer feel special. You are all still special, but not “this post”-special.)
…you have breathed deep the heady opiate fumes of Pokémon Go and have given into the glorious hunt. At present, you are struggling with a Caterpie (it is always the Caterpie that give you the most trouble.) Your battery is low and the battle is tense, but you finally manage get him (her?) trapped in a pristine Pokéball. It busts out, for Caterpies are underestimated for their strength and tenacity, and ready your arm for another face-off…but something is wrong. This Caterpie, it does not leap back into its sanctioned battle stance as is customary Pokémon etiquette. This Caterpie, it does not retreat. It will not back down. It boldly posits itself as close to the screen as possible, eyes locked with yours, body swaying like a cobra. Is this…is this Caterpie challenging you? Is it looking into your soul, seeing all your sins laid bare and judging you for them? You don’t know. How could you know? All that you know, as you frantically power off your phone is that you are going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not for weeks or months or even years, but one day, when your guard is finally at ease, when you lay yourself down waiting for the secure cloud of sleep to envelop you…you will see those same dead, bulbous black eyes one more time. And they will be the last things you ever see…
You’re on your way to your first day of Basic Pickling Techniques at the local adult education center, when a time-traveling Ayn Rand gives you an important message.
You are teaching your first class in Time-Travelling at the local adult education center when you are interrupted by Ayn Rand, who can’t find her way to Basic Pickling Techniques and has an important message.
Ayn Rand is about to write her great manifesto on Basic Pickling Techniques when she is interrupted by you, a time-traveller, with an important message.
You have an important message about time-travelling, but Ayn Rand won’t stop talking to you about Basic Pickling Techniques.
At the Battle of The Bands, your band, Basic Pickling Techniques, is about to face off against crowd favorite Time-Traveling Ayn Rand. Write the lyrics to your smash hit “Important Message.”
In a dystopian future, where mankind worships Basic Pickling Techniques, you and Ayn Rand are the only ones who can save mankind with your important message about time-traveling.
A group of Basic Picklings are discussing the finer points of Ayn Rand Techniques when a time-traveling message arrives with an important you.
Ayn Rand something something Basic Pickling Techniques blah blah time-traveling blee important message.
You walk in on your father making love to Ayn Rand as they are engaged in a series of a sexual maneuvers known as Time-Traveling Basic Pickling Techniques. Describe what you are seeing. Include an important message.
I think one of my follies as a writer- and as an actor and probably as a person as well- is my insatiable need to make everything big and perfect. Everything. Like this blog is not just a blog: this a canvas on which I must smear the bloodpaints of my soul and offer humbly to the Gods of Creativity and their various consorts.
And that is why I have not updated since September. Bloodpaintings on a regular basis are harrrrd.
So, no more perfection. Perfection is nice every now and then, but let’s be real. Perfection is not an accessible weekly goal. I’m not saying my past work has been beyond reproach. I think what I do is quite close to reproach. Adjacent, really. It’s the striving for perfection that fucks me up. It hinders all creative conquests. It’s like saying to a month-old baby “GET UP! GET THE FUCK UP! WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING MARATHONS, YOU LAZY SACK OF SHIT?” Babies can’t run marathons, no matter how much you yell at them. Babies need to learn how to walk, and then walk without falling, and then run, and then run without falling, and then run for a long time, and then run for an even longer time, and so on and so forth. At some point, the baby will also have to learn not to poop in his or her pants. Or maybe diaper dependency is actually a good thing thing when you are running 26 miles. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve never run a marathon, but if I had I would not have been a baby.
If I am trying to say anything with this little bit of word-mess is that it is okay to fuck up. In fact, it is necessary and inevitable. If you try to make everything perfect or even exceptional you are going to end up frustrated and disappointed with a blog that has only five posts in the last year.
So no more perfection for me. No more bloodpaintings, no more soul-canvases no more crying out to the Muses for validation. I’m just going to make stuff. Making stuff feels pretty good.