Gay Daddy

Well, not being able to blog anything nice has not kept me from blogging anything at all. Ever. And yet, my Michele (with fun accents if he were Italian, which I know he thinks of at night) would love for me to talk about him until the ends of time. And I have many things to say. Good things. I think they are good things. Because they come from love, even though sometimes they are tethered to love with a ninja star or something... But at any rate, I just felt the need to put this piece up on my blog. It was inspired by him, as well as an amalgam of gay playmates, boyfriends, stylists, metaphysical foils, best friends, siblings, parents and progeny. And also this play, "Rip Me Open" that we are writing with Kyle J. and Brian M. I am excited.

I have been working with M-C-squared a lot... We just finished doing Grandmotherfucker & the Seducers, with Pat and Jack, an amazing show, which was hilarious, insightful, unpretentiously interconnected stand up by the four of us. I can say undoubtedly that this show has helped my stand-up comedy skills immensely. At Monday Night's Smut, I had this amazing set that surprised the hell out of me, as I was hung over on three hours of sleep from the Neo-Futurist benefit the night before and hadn't done my traditional afternoon and day-full-of-cigarette-breaks round of cramming for the show. I just did some jokes I had done before, and threw some new things in there, and just sort of talked. I didn't even stand, I just sort of lounged on the edge of my stool at my podium, with my notebook there for good luck (at one point, I was going to panic and glance down, but just continued into the next bit that came into my head, and started to make new sense out of old bullshit... it's weird forming my sets at Smut, cause it really harnesses my power for insight through filth, but really makes for a Non-Commercial persona... which is kind of what I want, I just fear that my life will somehow be dependent upon courting Catskills crowds).

Anyway, needless to say, things have been going swimmingly performance-wise. That's generally the only part of my life where things can go swimmingly. Ask some of the attendees of Smut on Monday to find out about how great things are in my personal life.

But I digress from the initial point, which is that I wanted to share this piece with the 5 of you (whoo-hoo, already 5 readers... I cannot believe it, where is my Random House book deal?). I first read it at Smut this past Monday, and even impressed my friend's "alpha-male" (her description, not mine) boyfriend. Apparently it's a situation everyone can understand.


Gay Daddy

You are my gay daddy, that's what you are.
You are the top to my jar all bottled up
Letting off steam I didn't know I could build.
Slaps from your thick flesh on thin skin have goaded me through ugly things.
You smelled the sweetness of my humiliation.
You smell my fear I think. Like a pit bull licking busted chops.
In all of my discoveries, I have discovered you.
Waiting in the room.
At the fireplace.
With matches. And a troubled face. Like your conclusion was my curfew.
And you reached it way before I had a chance to go out and play.
For the street lights to come on.
All the judgments I have learned not to hear in my head you make
Like the slightest blinking alarm piercing through the darkness.
I relearn
I relearn
I relearn all my womanhood with you nipping and tucking at me.
Just like mom used to do
Making me feel dirty
Just like dad used to do.
And I know my place
Because you create it and say, "Challenge!"
And I am left staring at my emptiness presented to me. I am ashamed and
I spring to action.
And the game continues although I am panting. I am sweating
I think I am having a heart attack. I am swearing at you. I hate you
And I want you to feel it. But you are not listening to me. You poke me for sulking and check your cell phone.

I am older than you or we are the same age
Growing in different directions
I am growing up and you are growing out and I keep finding new places
In the space we contain. New holes we knock in the wall. You push
And all of me that pushes back is the only part that makes a difference.
You are my gay daddy, and I am so much your bitch that I'll keep doing exactly what you say and never get laid for it. Never get the winnings I've earned.
Never fully succumb. Just keep caving slowly, crumbling into finer and finer powder laid out in razored rows for a nonplussed nose.

But see how fine I have become.

I like to feel ravished.
You know what I mean.
We both squirm in the face of each other.
High-pitched whimpers that want to be taken
Growls that want gravel and substance
A tickle that shakes our heads. No.

At the heart of our matter there is the betrayal, at the end of the day, with the purple and scarlet sky, kneeling at the feet of mushroom clouds, ducking the locusts in a pastoral scene of apocalypse. At the end of all things, when worse comes to worse.
I would
And you would not.
Could not.

In our natures we are twisting.
You are trying to make it up to me with seduction.
Wrapping me around your finger like ribbon
So I can feel beautiful and pink. Useable. Used.
You know how I like it.

How light and petty our heads swing back as we approach
As if to kiss
As if to butt heads in a field
You are running so fast I can't tell if I am moving or not.
But I am
Because you are smiling
And I want to make your nose bleed.
I would love to see you cry.
I would hold you, you know.
And find out if I could trust you. See the places where my mark cradled you.
And burn them in.
It's just the closeness of you
That makes me melt in from the center of my thighs.

Do you love me? Do you want to be me? Do you want to be in me?
Oh. You don't.
Well.

Do you love me?

Do you want to be me?

Do you want to be in me?

No?

My Secret Crush on David Rees

I saw him walking in front of my office yesterday as I was finishing up some errands. I wondered if that's where he had come from. Probably not. I see famous people in and around my building all the time (many more than, I am sure, anyone has actually seen, in real life, in LA). I mean, it is on the 5th Ave. Strip... and I also work on the same floor as a major PR smiley dude... So occasionally Leo DiCaprio walks by, and I wish I were 16 again, and that I had given a shit when I was 16 so that being 16 again would have some empirical value.

I first met David Rees when he came to read at SMUT (which I host at Galapagos, and if you haven't been, you haven't lived I tell ya!) in a suit, and did this amazing bit of quirk on how Lincoln would have been different (and probably gayer, though I don't think he said such, the historical context of that moment implied that everything about Lincoln made him gayer) if given a different hat at an historically crucial moment. It was, in my opinion, what the evening needed. I mean, there is no such thing as Smut without balance. Without something just to get the mind giddy. It was like ginger before the smutty sushi. It was good.

And then he came to do an intern lunch (I had so much to tell you guys about the interns at my office this summer. They were all so weird. So young. and some... so hot. At least for the first two weeks. And then they were around all the time, going... what's wrong with the copy machine? How do I use the postage meter? What are you having for lunch today... blah blah blah. But for a good two weeks there I felt like former First Man Bubba himself... about to get me some of that intern poontang. Only from the boys. The girl interns were cute, but as a rule, I really couldn't be interested in the women in my office. Most of them are short, and consequently, on power trips. Okay, that's not true. It's mostly my boss. But there is this one girl who has been working with us for a while--she started as an intern--and she has the most bangin' ass EVER. And those who know me know my ass envy-turned-lust so you know I mean what i say. Ass of Perfection) like a month or so ago, and he was so hilarious.

He kind of looks like Ben Affleck's skinny cousin, and constantly has this look of being appalled on his face. Kind of a combination of looking at the sun wherever he goes, but mostly just a constant shock and disgust at all of humanity. I know that's not how he feels in his heart... from what I understand of his history, he comes from a family of hmmm... is it Methodist... Quaker.... ministers? I don't know, but he comes from a somewhat progressive religious background. Which is hot right there. So I know that he really does have a candle of idealism flickering in there... But he's got such a no-bullshit attitude. Like a writer for South Park withought being all nutty libertarian. He seemed to be very open with discussing the bullshit of politics while still being a believer in "working with the system" which is always helpful... it's nice when people can instill some realistic hope in "the system." One place where escapism really doesn't work is politics.

Anyway, He just always has that look on his face, like, "what the fuck" only, he's thinking something smarter, I know. Even though, according to him, if he were really doing what he wanted to do, he'd be "eating microwave burritos and watching movies." And even though he is really happily married, and has his eyes on higher, more intellectual prizes than the funny brown girl who digs his style... i dig his style. I dig his awkwardness. I dig him worrying that his stuff wasn't smutty enough for smut. I dig guys who are dirty and don't even know it. They're just them. Being onself is a smutty job.

Check out the cartoons on his site. Well, the cartoons are clip art, but the writing is all his burrito-eating brain. Tell me I'm wrong.

Blagh

So that last post is a little incomplete because it was in my draft folder forever, and so much of my life sits in the draft folder that I have made a point of making a fool of myself and publishing my drafts, in print, onstage, before I have thought about the words spilling out of my mouth. Because honestly, my drafts are more connected than a some people's final thoughts. And of course, most of those people are stupid. But they are people. So I can feel better about myself because I am better. And that's pretty good.

But honestly. I am a private person. Stop laughing people who know me. Think about how much you know about me. And then laugh again motherfucker. I am a private person. Very outgoing, but also dubious in nature. I consider myself a truthful person, but dubious. Which is funny, only in the ha-ha strange kind of way, which is really the best way.

So I have had different things to say periodically, since having done the solo show and all of that. But a. doing a solo show sucks up everything you have ever had to say about anything. And you get sick of talking at people... which is exactly what this is--and talking at yourself, which is exactly what this is. And b. i have taken to enjoying my life rather than talking about it. The best format is to only enjoy things you are talking about after you've actually enjoyed the things. It's hard to enjoy something while you are talking about it. Cause you're killing it.

Although, I think I would enjoy talking about killing people while I was killing them. Oh great. that's the line that's going to be on Forensic Files after my *alleged* murder spree (talk with my lawyers, guys). But yeah, once someone has meritted a good killing, talking about it while doing it only sweetens the sauce.

See, Michael, this is why you don't *force* me to blog. Cause then I get all retalatory (is that even a word? It is now. I'm the word-murderer here!

Because apparently the 3 people who check my blog out regularly are sick of hearing about my show that's over. Fine. But may I suggest this. Stop checking my fucking blog regularly. What the fuck are you doing with your lives that you are looking at my fucking online post to see if I am saying something about you. Get a job Michael. I mean, first off, you're a film star, yes? and you know everyone? Check out their blogs. I am sure they are promoting themselves in perpetuity throughout the universe, and they have clever little witticisms about every fucking stupid thing that happened in their day. We live in New York. We all have impressive and interesting lives by definition. And of course, we are all checking out each others blogs to find out what we are saying about each other, if something is slightly different, better, somewhere else.

Honestly, get some bu-shit you have to do on a daily basis... at a desk, with fucking losers who are better at your losery job than you. And then you can start your own boring-as-shit blog. Or, even better. Start one about your movie stardom. People love hearing about that kind of stuff on blogs. Gives all the people in the world they don't know a false sense of importance. Allows them a glint of hope in every strange sallow face.

* * * * *

Dear Lord God, let me not be a blogger. Let me swallow the shame thickly when I become one. When I cross over and have drones of people searching to find out what is going on in my life daily. God, let the shame at least come with fame and a bit of cash to make it all bearable. Let not too many lives hinge on my bullshit opinions of life's candy wrappers.

So yeah, I have decided that a much better use for this blog... perhaps it's original intent, is for me not to build up the writing that I must do, as I would do with any writing that i was doing... but to let it be my sort of daily mental meandering.... perhaps I will work it up to stream of consiousness one of these days. and then no one will read my blog. at least not my friends. I won't have said anything clever. They'd be so bored.

Love you. Bye.