"If they run, they're Viet Cong; if they stand still, they're well trained Viet Cong"

Please bear with, as I figure out whether my current mental predicament is fueled mainly by my bipolar disorder, my recreational drug dabbling, or a furious sexual frustration - a n hysteria analog.

Once I've explained it, a more delightful state of being common grumbling about processing has it should ensue.

Collected

Overheard During Gay Group at Passages in Malibu

"Okay girl?  I mean, I had no choice but to stop partying when every fucking time I was on one, the hills had eyes, and those eyes were wearing liquid eyeliner.  And on top of that, they were gloating because I couldn't get any..."

Spark It Up!

(Well, I guess it's better than: "Your teen comes home smelling like semen, and the voices in your head tell you he's on meth. Now what? MYBRATISBOGARTINGPARTYFAVORSSMIRK.ORG...")

人怕出名猪怕肥

...If that helps explain anything to some of you still solving a years-long mystery vis-a-vis yours truly (no shame in that, rest assured.)  And by the way:  "I can handle reality in small doses, but as a lifestyle, it's much too confining." - Lily Tomlin

Happy Pride, Everybody!

Just remember to take your Truvada or wear a condom, or both.  And no, bitch, that's not Wayland and Madame you hear coming down from the roof of Beck's Motor Lodge to your room for six hours straight -- it's all in your head, so chill!

So, Like, Yah, Fer Sure, Right?

"Oh, definitely, Frau Wiegler!  At times it seemed like an absolutely boffo idea to work over a 37 year-old white and Native American gay man who attends services at a Jodo Shin Buddhist temple -- who, moreover, has lived since birth in Northern California and exhibits such a reaction to programming -- and radicalize him to the point that he goes on a killing spree at a soft target like an emergency room, or who at the very least could be spun as a palatable patsy for the press as the perpetrator in a sting operation transparently engineered by the FBI; (the latter of course would be cast as heroes who prevented an attack on a hard target.)

"Not that I would have known which outcome would have been most satisfactory, of course.  You know your business better than I do.  Still, I'm nothing if not a patriot, and therefore could have been bought off.  And you were partially correct:  even with my IQ, I wholeheartedly agree that I suffer at times from the most abject stupidity.  Yet to this day I wonder why such a shoddy effort was made to gull me, and why circumventing my right to consent was apparently perpetrated by puling amateurs.  I mean, really...  Who was meant to be the target of insults in all of this?  The target, or those who for years had a bead on him a mile wide?"

"Describe Yourself For The Cameras..."

Victim with a twist.  Precious trash.  Sugar and spice and puppy dog tails.  Nature Boy in Dexter's Laboratory.  Giving him something he can feel.  Open-ended Omega Point.  Offensively innocuous.  Beside the point and the center of attention.

Lest Anyone Get The Wrong Idea About My Positive Attitude...

"You are never strong enough that you don't need help." - Cesar Chavez

"And That. Is The Night. The Lights Went Out. In GEORGIA!"

So a lot of people heard all my Sugarbaker-woman speechifyin'?

"Belief system"? Really?

How convoluted, how Rube Goldbergian, how matrix-like.  Rather, what about a string of convictions? That sounds so much prettier, like a string of pearls -- a lovely, pearl necklace.  Aw.

So Far, We've Apparently Moved On To New Things...

Great news, everybody:  I will no longer be reprising my lead in Miss Tina Productions' FIELD OF SCREAMS ([STAGY, PSYCHOSIS-LIKE VOICEOVER WHISPER]: "If you shoot him, they will come...")

Let the future begin...

Program

My latest foray into exploring program while partying (and therefore mixing business with pleasure) was reminiscent of Britt Ekland in WICKER MAN, flopping against the wall naked in some sort of sexy, sinister pagan rite.  Still no luck getting to those gunman on the other side, though.  Maybe I was too obviously manipulative...

Mysteries, Peeves, and Lost Opportunities

I come from a tradition, the rules of which include:  hydrate or die, sleep is not the enemy, eat or else, you can always add to but never take away from, they can't really hurt you, and pull it together when others are falling out.  Over the last few decades, I've done pretty well at observing said rules, and they've saved my life and my sanity.  Still, my origins mean I've had occasional run-ins I've thought are too bad with those (particularly medical professionals and cops) whose rules include catch, hold and release; partition (fences make good neighbors); and never let on that you hear voices.  An unfortunate friction, and a gap I've always wished I could bridge...  Ah, tristesse!

P.S.  I admit I've always felt a bit of resentment that neither the DEA, SFPD's vice division, nor other authorities inclined towards shitty, immature behavior ever created false profiles for yours truly on methy hook-up sites for the sake of defamation.  I really could have used a little edge to my goody two-shoes reputation.  Where's the love, guys?

P.P.S.  I never did figure out the point of all those pocket lasers and wide-angle, telescopic shots.  Why are you waiting for me to be ready for my close-up?

P.P.P.S.  I never did follow up on precisely what emerged when Frankie and company worked me over in order to open the gates of hell a few years back.  Let's hope it was nothing more than an exhausted Virgil towing Dante and Beatrix to an ice cream shop downtown.

P.P.P.S.  Hey Naomi, sorry about the ROSEMARY'S BABY joke.  One shouldn't make that reference to pregnant tweakers.

P.P.P.P.S.  Overall, I've got to say my verdict at this point is, "Awful program, Frankie:  nobody likes to look at splatter."

A Blow To Tweaker Pride

What shame!  What ignominy!  I'm not sure I can ever show my face in public or private or among hallucinated voices ever again...  There I was, so haughty and full of myself, exultant in my victory, thinking the whole time during production that I alone had been cast as the lead in the exciting, groundbreaking DARBY O'GILL AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE II:  METHPOCALYPSE!, when in fact, as I found out during the well-attended screening, that all along I was a bit player billed far down the credits as "Anonymous Terrified Hot Bitch From The 70s #5."  I was more mortified than if I had been Courtney Love turned down for the role of Nancy Spungeon, after she had seen her own lackluster acting thrown into sharp relief onscreen as a second banana she had originally esteemed herself as better than.   At least she still has her hubris, delusion, and self-righteous indignation, whereas I now find myself bereft of every comfort.

Oh, painful reality!  Oh humiliation!

Snap, I Just Now Figured It Out

After years of wondering why anyone would be angry at me for getting high on meth, I just realized how remiss I had been:  I was supposed to go out and meet my aspiring tormentors while wearing sackcloth and a beatific look on my face.  I completely failed them and myself, and I'm so ashamed.  Not only were they angry, they were probably also terribly sad and crestfallen.  I wonder if I can ever make it up to them...

It's really true what they say -- drugs will ruin your life.  They certainly put a kink or two in my planned martyrdom.  Sorry Opus Dei!  I'll do what I can to make amends...

Well Slap Me And Call Me Philip K. Dick

I just had an idea for a story in which someone invents a drug to combat cold and flu symptoms that's also a somewhat addictive euphoric.  One of the side effects of the drug is that it reveals to everyone else in the world who the person on it is and that person's psychological and intellectual make-up.  The situation inspires certain people to torture, persecute and kill by proxy those on the drug who are intelligent and good, while leaving alone those elements on the drug who engage in antisocial, undesirable and criminal behavior so that the drug develops a bad reputation among those factions in society who would see it prohibited -- the prohibitionists of course also having the motive of wanting to enrich themselves via the systems that arrest, prosecute and incarcerate those who either purvey the drug or use it.

Everything's Gonna Be Okay

A lot of these news stories have made me sad.  There are a lot of my schizoaffective friends who need help.

But people die, and here we are left.  I'm sad, but I'm not deluded.

We fucked up and they fucked up.  What is it going to take to make this right?  I've got my methamphetamine in (Hitler slammed five times a day, and JFK and Marilyn Monroe both partied), but I don't know if that's gonna help.

God save us all...

Secrets Can Be Hard To Keep

And sometimes, when you feel good, don't you just want the whole world to know, so everyone can be happy for you?

So what we have is a situation in which we've established that telepathy is real, and yet people still get arrested, prosecuted and incarcerated for getting high.  That's so fucking retarded, I feel like kicking everyone's asses.

Among Other Absurdities...

...I can't believe Frankie wanted to use his nifty psychic connection to get me in trouble for being high.

That must suck, being a telepath with a room-temperature IQ.  God, how awful!