...to feel again...
i won't be able to get through that PBS docu without a symphony of emotion on both sides. a catharsis from the Canal. it was different with Robin Williams, he was fam, he was San Fran fam from our community, he was San Francisco artistry. there's a special breed, brand, of San Fran art which distinguishes from the mean streets or the prairie, it's as open as can be, it explores the edges of a heart, not just its light. and there he landed on his spaceship, communicating the alien's wish, in his pre-grunge orange stripes and psychedelic rainbow taxi-cab-driver's cap and acid hair and Seventies shock and suspenders from the most beautiful bridge in the world. a drawbridge which allowed us ogres to see how we were made one night when God was drunk. he was everyone's weird uncle, the weird uncle you wanted to visit in his hot house in Marin cos he had the lost U.N.C.L.E.. out of the set and into our shag living rooms from a Sesame Street both demented and demure. a man from a different time, an era of engagement, of care and of caring, when we were all in on the dirty joke, when his warm human smile always followed. big nose, big heart. he took on the burden of the clown cross for us, painting with orange paint, making poetry come alive and our suits less stuffy. made us believe in our wishes, included us, made us feel better, he was the doc not the docu. he will never come back, for those peerless decades will never come back. the first taxi-cab confession on NYC mean streets. that time is gone. he taught us our numbers, letters, and colors.
will we ever laugh again? no, no we will not.
1. what do you need to learn but won't admit to? i need to learn. i need to learn so much. so much more. i need to go to college. and learn stuff. but Harvard won't admit me.
2. if you could erase one event from your life, which one would you choose? briefly describe the event, tell us why you would erase it. go back to when i was about to commit the crime of watching Minority Report and stop myself before the precogs find out and the cops nab me.
but here's the thing: that's what THEY want me to think. the thing is, i ENJOYED Minority Report! no it wasn't a kid's film, no i don't care how many views that famous youtube rebuke of the film got, that doesn't mean you're right, for all we know YOU could be Cruise!
i'm now in future jail for having bad taste. where are the pitless black olives for my toes? for liking things not directly marketed to me. i now know how Gene Siskel feels. at least they've hooked me up with all the bubble wires i could dream of, they've submnerged me in a jacuzzi so i'm constantly calm. i constantly feel anachronistic.
this frees up time for me to comb over A Scanner Darkly in preparation for the secomd season of Dream Corps LLC on adult swim. i'm on a bit of a Philip K. Dick kick currently---no time to watch tv---a Philip Phase, the time when his wife left him (a mutually-beneficial decision probably for the best for both of them) alone in that swanky pad in Marin, county commune, with his new drug-buddy friends. the other wife actually wrote the book. i like Philip, he cries when he writes like me.
3. who drains your energy, and why do you let it happen? Dracula. he drains my life force when i'm with him. like literally i feel my blood run cold and empty, i don't know why or where it's going. he's also a massive time-suck and i can never reach him at his office during business hours. why do i stay with him? he knows DIO. and the sex is out-of-this-underworld.
4. do you practice self-love or self-loathing? i practice a happy medium called "self-loafing". i bake myself a loaf every time i start feeling low like i could blow, place it on the sill to cool Snow-White-style. i talk to the bird who tweets in my hair. also i find practicing my archery naked in the woods helps in these loaf moments. i'm an archer.
5. what must you do daily to keep yourself sane? writing prompts. i wish TMIT was week-long.
bonus: who do you blame? the man in the mirror, Dracula.
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