The neighborhood is your 'hood when the guy at the wash-and-fold doesn't bother printing a ticket. He knows your name, will automatically charge your account, and know you'll be in tomorrow to pick it up. All in a second, as I plop the bag on the counter. It's powerful, because we can talk about more pleasant things than the details of the transaction. That is a 'hood: continuity of people who know and like you.
and I thought launching Tropolism would be the highlight of the day. But you never know. Note from my mother, now:
Once when you were small, you asked me "Mommy, where do butterflies go
when it rains?"
It's raining lightly here, and there is a beautiful black butterfly
resting on my back porch.
In case you weren't one of the 167 people I emailed about it:
Today, we launched Tropolism.com. Enjoy!
I'm testing passion. I only want someone who is passionate about me. As in, beating the door down. And then, I did it. I went home without the hot 21yo who worships me. Except not this minute. And I adored it. Please reread the second sentence of this blog entry. And ignore Rocco's typing. Please. He totes is crazy n stuff.
And I looked at myself, as I was peeing, and I thought:
Guest blog from Rocco:
“You look like desth sweetie. Crystal is not a good look or hobby. Let's go out to rawhide one night and help build back your self esteem.”
“OMG, that is totes co-dependent”
At the Neurosciences Institute building, La Jolla, California, with my unbelievably cool and talented and supportive friend Mike J from La Orenj, on September 17, 2005, 10.55am, PST.
The Four Stages of Bottoming, according to the sexiest (and only?) top in Los Angeles. And, I quote:
1. You can't fuck me.
2. Fuck me!
3. You can't fuck anyone ELSE.
4. You can't fuck anyone else... AND you can't fuck me.
In the late summer...
In the far future...
She stated, in the form of a question, as a declaration: “you ARE having fun, aren't you?”.
The night blew cool in my hair. I always do my best work this time of year. August is over, and a switch gets flipped. My hair blows again. The late summer air flutters my almost-shaved head. The wind enters my nose and throat like it came out of an icebox...hot at my ears, cool in my T-zone.
The future is right in front of me. In the hairs, shorn from my scalp, on the floor. In the dozens of extraordinary people I know. In every idea that crosses my mind. The best part of Right Now is that I can be in so many far futures, at once.
Collectively, over a series of parties, gatherings, and internet hook-ups, day and night, all weekend, every friend from every corner of my life asks me:
“Where have you been? We missed you. We love you so much.”
This is the life I love.
In case you missed this brilliant, playful, gorgeous, and crazy-genius entry, I link it here for you.
As a side note, I've received several emails from Rocco-hatahs, or people who for sophisticated reasons basically think Rocco's wrong and they are right, asking me to not-love his blog. Seriously. It's the same request every time. How can you love his blog? It's got 'hate' in the title, that's, like, bad? Etc. I don't spend much time on these requests. Usually, I just laugh. Sometimes people can be, oh, so dense. Rocco is a good writer, and therefore I love his blog. He understands that the depths of blogging lie not in how realistic we can get about our writing, or how totally genuine we are, or how tortured we act when the camera is on, but about pushing the boundary of the plausibly real. Rocco does this, in spades. He pushes all our buttons in the process, and exposes the fact that most political views are based on emotional issues we all share. He totes defo wouldn't put it like that, yet he practices it. Rocco is an artist. And yes, a pain in the ass on the rugby pitch. Get over it.
At a gallery opening tonight. People everywhere, as they always are the first week of September. Lots of art. Not all bad. One, a scotch tape drawing that was unexpectedly fabulous, said:
“Here we have an unforseen temple”
Indeed, we do.
ps all work in this domain is copyright chad the minx.