Spiritus Mundi

Thorazine

Thorazine

Thorazine

Thorazine

Thorazine

That was my first death.

The reaction to the revolution comes too late

The swift and savvy win and relegate the good to chains

The nurses dose us up to placate our vituperative astonishment

We are tracking on the inner gyre:

In each human heart terror survives

The raven has gorged: the loftiest fear

All that they would disdain to think were true:

Hypocrisy and custom make their minds

The fanes of many a worship now outworn.

They dare not devise good for man’s estate,

And yet they know not that they do not dare.

--Yeats

The second coming is coming. And I’m not talking Biblically.

Each human mind is linked to the vast intelligence. We all share a collective unconscious.

Things fall apart.

The last conversation Kara and I had was weeks after the rubber room. We spoke politely on the phone and I played Here Comes the Sun for us to listen to.

Once the song finished, she said, “I love that you just did that with me.”

I forgave her, kind of, and told her it was my favorite song.

“Mine, too,” were her last words to me.

Things fall apart.

Things went up and down hill after that. Things are coming together now, finally.

Vamos a jugar con la playa

Detalles por venir...

The crowd was subdued, but anxious. A bunch of us were at the bar trying to reclaim a door to 1990 via vodka tonics and Corona Light. The bouncers were letting groups of us out in small waves, knowing full well we’d be walking around the adjacent blocks sharing joints and hits of X. These were cool bouncers acting appropriately with a mellow crowd. We were almost too mellow, knowing exactly what we were in for. Doolittle.

I saw Bruce about a month ago knowing he was going to play Born to Run as a full set. Bruce bookends his sets with surprises, though. That’s how he gets goosebumps out of the crowd—by playing Rosie right after Jungleland.

This show was different. First of all, it didn’t take place in a concrete cereal bowl full of 80,000 people. It took place on a small stage in front of about 2,000 clued in fans starving for a different form of nostalgia. Something more akin to rebirth—not an acknowledgement of what had happened before—more like a revisit to some friends who no one fully appreciated at their peak. We thought The Pixies would be here forever to wrap our brains in Christmas tree lights. Turned out this was looking more and more like a last flicker of a tiny blue flame.

Second of all, I wasn’t baked out of my brain for some reason. I definitively imbibed more, but since I finished working for awhile I think I’m building up a resistance. The X might have had something to do with it, too. I didn’t have any urge to drink or smoke up, though the occasional Newport had me virtually writhing in menthol ecstasy.

I was offered a few lines but declined. Thou shalt not mix X and snow, lest your libido become an unpredictable blizzard. You’ll also end up with a blazing headache and a raging boner the next day—not a pleasant combo if you want to sleep, get laid, or all of the above.

They played Doolittle in its entirety, B sides included as well as the surf version of Wave of Mutilation. I felt old, and I think the band did, too. Francis was in fine voice. Joey was shy. David was thrashing. Kim was a goddess. There were some youngin’s there trying to mosh, but nothing much came of it.

All in all, it was like traveling through a time portal back to Boston circa 1989. The X and weed helped. But nothing could bring me back to those days of first discovering them via the purple cassette. That tape has long since been chewed by an old Toyota Celica I still have never forgiven for dining on my first beloved Pixies album and losing its transmission in one horrid day back in 1992. I finally realized after the show that it was time to move on. To where, I don’t know. Lucky for me, I have a wide open future.

I felt close to Kurdt and refelt his 1994 suicide the whole way home. I still want to grow up to be a debaser. I don't know about you but I am un chien andalusia. I want you to know.

No more wet spot

Squirty McWetspot is repaired. His name is now bong. You wouldn't believe the detailed advice and help they give at Lowe's.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I’m thankful for the astounding show of support for my opt to drop out of the wonderful world of advertising for a few months. You’ve all helped what was a difficult and at times regretful decision transform into a move of bravery and independence. It’s become what I needed it to be—a weight off of my shoulders and an opportunity for reinvention.

I’d love to hear what you’re all thankful for. I’m blessed to have some of the most interesting people in the country reading, commenting, and emailing about this self-indulgent blog of mine. Let me hear what has made you happy this year.

I was also kind of glad to see that Susan Boyle YouTube video.

1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3

Went out last Friday night with Alysia to Ashes, a local bar. It was there where I met Donna, Alysia’s friend who looks like an uncanny clone of Reese Witherspoon, except for the fact that she has bigger boobs and loves my scruffy beard. They want me to take rhumba/tango/waltz lessons with them.

I guess I should do it. What’s the worse that could happen? I dance with two smoking hot women? I think some push-ups might be in order between now and then. If we dip, I want to snap up to a magnetic embrace.

What are your favorite 5 songs this week?

Here are mine:

1. Wave of Mutilation - The Pixies

2. Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead

3. Nightswimming - REM

4. Fix You - Coldplay

5. Man Over - Robinella & the CC Band

For reasons I can't quite explain, the great weight of my list is seesawed toward melancholy. I don't know about y'all, but I'm sure more of you have better taste than I.

Ultra-rare opportunity

Anyone want to go see the Pixies this week? They're playing the Hammerstein Ballroom. Rumor has it they'll be playing 2 versions of my fave song ever, "Wave of Mutilation".

I dare you

Try it. Just for kicks. Work your ass off for three years at a high-paying job and then quit. Cash out. Turn yourself into a proverbial ATM. Get your life in order. Get your finances in order. Get your shit together. Get your vacuum cleaner fixed. Buy a new suit. Do the laundry that’s been piling up. Fix your computers. Get your boot heels fixed, non slip. Reset your circadian rhythms. Revisit your neurologist for all those concussions. Lower your need for Xanax.

Take walks around the town you love. Donate all the stuff you don’t need to charity. Give your warm coats to the homeless. Learn how to be nice again. Try to remember what it was like to be cool. Love thy neighbor. Love thy self. Don’t drink, but fix your new bong with silicone caulk. Clean your bathroom. Drive your car for no reason. Reach the beach. Watch Juno at 4:00 AM and laugh and cry. Update your iPhome Apps. Date beautiful women. Repair your broken heart and don’t take a beat for granted. Try it.

I'm a lucky man

Torrey, Shannon, and Alysia at the Joba event. How many Appletinis can three girls drink? Especially while the waiters keep refilling wine glasses? The answer is this: Who cares?

Alysia's finger

Here's Alysia posing for a photo. She looked hot. And I don't recall seeing her without a drink in her hand. It's always nice going to a charity event with 5 dates.

The Venetian

Had a cool time at the Joba charity event, though I was outbid by my friend Shannon for a 2007 Red Sox World Series Celebration plaque. Here's a pic of a 15 ft. tall flower vase in the lobby.

Stokaboka

Great. Just before I plan a trip to MexiRicaFornia I buy a new Stokaboka coat. At least I'll feel at home swilling rum on the bow of the barnacle-ridden boat bouncing and brimming into Baha port. Plus, the lining is this really cool electric blue color that looks great when I'm not wearing it.

Board 4

I'm going to MexiRica. Yeah!

Self-portrait, 11-11-09

Got a new haircut today. Alysia was in a good mood--I found her in the Dublin House nursing a glass of wine right before out appointment. Next Monday we're going to a charity event sponsored by the Yankee pitcher Joba Chamberlain. Hope it's an open bar.

Otherwise, I'll end up spending a fortune.

Squirty x 4

Holy shit. Squirty has me baking like a souffle right now. This fucker hits fast and hard. Gigantic hits. As for now, all I can say is that Squirty has me sailing somewhere way above the atmosphere right now.

Squirty McWetspot

Today I made 370 bucks transporting acrylic bongs from Long Island City to a head shop on 4^th and 6^th. Moved 100 units at 10% commission, plus an extra $20 from the dude running the head shop. He said he’s never seen someone make the same run so fast once, let alone three times.

Now I need to find a Xanax/Pipe fitter tape store, pronto. My new bong is FUCKING leaky. Her name is Squirty. Or Wetspot. Haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll just consolidate and name her Squirty McWetspot. There’s a leak at the base. It totally sucks. She’s like a little red acrylic puppy that needs a wee wee pad.

I took the 7 train to the F train, with a detour through Bryant Park on the way. Stopped once along the way to pick up an Rx I had coming to me anyway. Somehow I ended up with stuff from the Apple Store, a few choice items from Lucky, and a kick ass tribal necklace from the competing headshop. I think they want me to make the Flushing Bay/7 train run. That’s like the asteroid field in Star Wars. Bound to get hit, eventually.

Truth in Advertising

Easy paycheck? Or soul-killing punishment? I'll demand at least $100 an hour.

Albanian hooch

Arsen, the Albanian artistic wonder, who brought along his special brand of Albanian bathtub hooch to drink on Fridays. This kid is a blast. Especially when he does his Borat impression. Chicks dig him. Even more than they dig me.

The Golden Ratio

This is a close-up of the massive seashell wallpaper in my old elevator lobby. Pretty trippy, eh?

We're really into Fibonacci sequences.

Krista

Thursday was a fun night.

Alyssa

Thursday was a fun night.