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.