Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

I've decided that being depressed is it's own factory of depression. Yes, there are black angels like my mother who's warped sense of guilt for ignoring me as a child has turned her into a well-meaning and totally carcinogenic source of guilt and body-destroying stress. Yes, there are extenuating circumstances and, yes, there are hurdles at every turn in my life right now, but I have the choice of whether I want to stay in the shitter or not. Kind of like torturing yourself thinking about your ex having sex with someone else... Sooo not productive and self-sabotaging. The world is cruel and intimidating enough without me feeding it fuel. Or so my therapist would say... if I could afford to go to her, that is.

I actually went and spent some time with my mother this last weekend. Of course, she's been angry at me for two weeks because of a fundamental difference in our priorities and methodologies. I finally got her to agree to disagree and things got better from there... for a while. I wonder about our role reversal at times but have way too much to deal with right now to ponder why I'm schooling my mother about the nuances of human living. But of course, she can destroy months of negotiations with a single well-placed criticism that makes me want to impale myself on a Winnebago. C'est la vie...

Though I am at a decidedly low point, I do not want a hand-out. No, I don't think anyone owes me anything. I just need a little buffer, just a little leverage. A chance at bat. Send me in, coach. I can do it.

God, I sound pathetic...

I have decided that I am NOT jealous of people half my age who have 10 times the money/possessions/success/influence that I do. I know I am talented and whether I go to my grave being one of only six people wh0 know it too, then so be it. I am unable to fit into the happy, shiny facade of the corporate world. Not that I don't have the talent to motivate, hire, and manage good workers, I just cannot bring myself to pretend that I don't know that's it's all a bunch of ego-bullshit. Kind of like the filmmaker's pavilion at the AFI Film Festival where everyone is walking around with their dicks hanging out at half-mast so everyone else can admire the girth and rigidity of their hard-ons. My problem is I usually care more about things than the owners of the companies I work for. N0t necessarily monetarily but the integrity, the conscience, the essence, if you will, of the creative process. Unfortunately, the corporate environment is more interested in immediate gratification than the cultivation of true progression. It's the Ugly American Syndrome made flesh. And all the smarmy, smiling, Stepford people who are automatons of mediocrity and self-preservation make me want to swallow a poisonous blow-fish and do belly-flops.

I cannot alter the fact that I am a dark individual. I didn't say HEINOUS or MORBID or GOTHIC (though, I used to be a cute Hispanic terror in black eye-liner back in the day...) or even CRUEL. Hell, I'm more respectful of people's privacy than they are most of the time. It's just that I am not Guy Kawasaki nor any of the SCORES of female Nazi conformist cheerleaders on Twitter who just LOVE everyone. I will NEVER love everyone. On a basic level, I can barely stand most people at all. So when I hear how AMAZING all of someone's 4,287 followers are I don't know who to choke first, that person or myself. I mean, how valuable is something that you give to EVERYONE UNCONDITIONALLY??? Seriously, folks, think about it. It reminds me of the movie The Incredibles when the arch-villain Syndrome has Mr. Incredible imprisoned on his private island and he says at the end of his monologue "I will sell my technology so EVERYONE can be super... And when everyone is super, NO ONE will be super..." It's fucking true. I have a dream that is an extension of my childhood fantasies: I am receiving my Oscar and in my home town at various parties a large number of women will look up at the television screen and right as I accept my award will look at one another with a bored look and say, "I fucked him..."

People give their hearts and minds and bodies and rights and dreams away to anyone for any reason. I will never be one of those people. Even if it means being alone and unknown for the rest of my fucking pathetic little life. I know I have worth, even if the rest of the world has no clue. I will go to my grave knowing in my cold obsidian heart that all men are not created equal and that life is not fair. Because that is the honest truth. And truth is dark. The Catholic Church is founded on a complex series of lies and manipulation, very much like many of the media companies I've toiled for in the past. So are most interpersonal relationships. I lie, you lie, we choose to believe what we want and we get each other off. What a dead-end way to live life. Not to say I don't like getting myself and others off. But what, may I ask, is the price for ass?? Children? Who wants to birth a bunch of miscreants? I am so much happier living alone. Though, yes, I am in a passionate relationship of sorts with a married woman. Again, lies and deceit. But not towards me. Her husband had his chance and fucked it up for the last 20 years. Step aside, fuck-face. After watching everyone I know fuck it up, believe me, I know how to keep someone happy. And I do my best even though we live across the country from one another.

I suppose what I'm trying to impart is that success and failure are all part of the cycle of life. And again, the Cordovaism of "Perception is Reality" is so applicable. And it's time to change my point of view before my perception kills me... literally and figuratively.

Of course I came to these decisions after sleeping till noon and wallowing in my own natural juices for the last week or so. I just think I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. Even if you've broken every bone in your body the day will come when you are tired of lying in bed being an invalid and will throw yourself on the floor and drag your own broken ass to the nearest bar just to get some relief. And that's where I am. Not at a bar, per se, but in that conclusive state.

Of course, if the Academy wakes up one day and decides to make me its newest over-night sensation (at press time, 43 years in the making) I will be ever-so-humble and accept on my own behalf and thank NO ONE who has ever been an obstacle. Fuck you people. But after reading the Twits about the smarmy cast of Twilight (which, being a faithful follower of this blog, you know I have boycotted on every level because of its affiliation with the Mormons who happen to be the ramrod behind little social gems like Proposition 8 which is attempting to outlaw gay marriage) acting out on the MTV Movie Awards, I know that I can surpass their shallow mimes of gratefulness with the real McCoy. And I don't mean Horace. (who wrote 'They Shoot Horses Don't They?' which became Jane Fonda's first break-out role. He is also a minor character written into the mythology I created for White Rock, my latest and greatest screenplay. But I digress...)

Things that come so easily for most people are insanely difficult for me. And I suppose it's vice/versa, but the only difference is most people don't want to be intelligent barometers of society and God knows I just need a decent job so I can pay my fucking bills on time. Ah, the irony of life... But it's true, people look at me and know something is up with me. I’m not like them. It’s not that I look like Christopher Walken, walk with a stoop, have hairy knuckles, and stare at women’s tits while I talk to them (at least not all the time). No, it’s like they know that I'm some kind of alien, kind of like that horrible John Carpenter sci-fi film from 1988 called They Live featuring the wrestler Rocking Roddy Piper where with the aid of special sunglasses humans can see that the people around them are really invading aliens. And I don't mean from Tijuana. They can smell it on me. Like women can smell when a man has had sex with another woman. It’s pheromonal. I’m not like other men out there. I am deeper, more intense, and more talented than the average bear. And therefore they refuse to give me jobs, assistance, and the respect that they would gladly bestow on an idiot savant with half my skills, talent, and charm.They would rather give gold to a bum then give me a contact name who might be able to assist me in finding an agent (or part-time work). Everything is a little harder for me because I'm ABLE. I'm talented. I don't really NEED anyone. I swear I feel like I'm the protagonist in a new Ayn Rand novel. But the truth is there is no one in the world I'd rather be than myself. At least I can look in the mirror every day and feel good about my life. A little money couldn't hurt, though...

If I’m at all jealous it’s of young hot women. I’m not sure about anywhere where else in the country but in Dallas if you’re female and hot you can get a job anywhere doing anything for anyone. You can be a blithering idiot (which most are) and still make 60k a year doing absolutely NOTHING. It’s almost ridiculous. I have dated numerous women in the past who are in, albeit very detailed, support positions who all make six figures a year. Being a support person. I understand that it is very much like studio directing- orchestrating multiple feeds and talent and schedules into a seamless work-flow. (come to think of it, I couldn’t do that job) But the it’s a SUPPORT POSITION. And I aspire to be so much more. A lesser man would convert to Buddhism and commit hari-kari and have his best friend upload it to YouTube. And believe me, I’ve thought of it. However, I would never put my best friend through that trauma. She's actually the one who is keeping me afloat, doing the dog paddle. Thank God Hispanics float. (right, the Ice Queen is more ethnic than I am, but that is for another post entirely... )

And forget the adage about youth being wasted on the young. What's really obscene is celebrity wasted on celebrities. Aren't there any integrous people to obsess over? But I suppose Tommy Lee is a bit more interesting than Mahatma Ghandi... Ugh, I have not the will nor the strength to open that smelly can of worms right now... But I think you get the picture.

I have a new favorite band. It's the British quartet White Lies. And not just for the brilliance of their moniker, either. Here is one of the most lyrically intimate songs that I have heard in decades. I hope you enjoy it. It's called "To Lose My Life".



So, I guess you can see my dark side through the music I listen to. But it touches me. And not very many things or people ever will.

You know those cliche inspirational magnets you see on people's refrigerator's that say things like "Don't forget what's important to you", "Dare to Dream", "Never Give Up" and other hopeful individualistic propaganda like that? Well, I read them and actually live my life by them. So for better or worse, I owe my success/failure to the writers of magnets.

You fuckers owe me big-time.

Heavy sigh...

In closing I'd like to take a moment to praise New Hampshire which became the sixth US state along with Massachusetts, Connecticut, Maine, Vermont, and Iowa to legalize gay marriage. Of course, if you have read Casanova Shrugged for a while you know that I am neither gay nor married but I stand behind the civil rights of alternative lifestyle citizens, people just like you and me who deserve the same rights, responsibilities, and respect that the rest of the mindless breeders out there get handed to them for free. You people in these states have restored my faith, ever so slightly, in our American system. It's a shame the media is already talking about possible candidates for 2012. Apparently, Obama is already being dismissed in the conservative minds. I can't wait till a drunk Bristol Palin is discovered munching some carpet some day. You people are in for a rude awakening. But of course, it would all be squelched by the media.

God bless America...

And that's all from the edge this evening, kiddos. Keep your chins up, darlings... Both of them...



JC