Originally Posted Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Have I convinced you yet?
Any of you who have had terrible, excruciating back pain will know. Those of you who haven't. . . fuck you. But I am doing everything I can to reduce it and am successful to some degree a lot of the time. I have resorted to Advil which I resist (funny as I don't resist many other things), and it helps. And tonight, the pain is very tolerable. Still. . . .
Then there is the factory. One day back and I have lost that creative flow that had just begun. And suddenly, out of nowhere, models want to shoot with me again. All I want to do is work on my new processes, but. . . no, that is probably not a true statement. I probably want much more. More than I will get.
But I am fine, really. Work sucks, but I can't live without it. The creative processes are beginning to gel, even though I couldn't make it to the studio tonight to work. Left work late. Gym (which was stupid considering my back), grocery store, shower, cooking, eating. . . .
And then--Newsroom! I had recorded it last night. I watched it as I ate. Damn. . . schmaltzy as it is. . . I think it is wonderful. I try. I try to make my life that interesting. I try to be that smart and good. And I do a good job, I think. But still. . . I am a romantic slob for this schmaltz.
And then the whiskey. Rather. . . "and the whiskey."
I need to quit keeping it in the house.
I wonder, sometimes, how much of the creative life is pandering? Too much, I would think.
To wit: I haven't chosen a photo for this posting yet. Another B&W? An example of what I have been working on?
Random. What I have learned from porn sites:
1. More people than I ever thought have really big penises.
2. There are more hermaphrodites than I ever in my wildest dreams imagined.
3. There are a lot of people having sex with animals.
4. Everybody likes young girls.
There are more things, but I can't write them here (I wonder how much of the creative life is pandering?).
I was saving the best for last, but I have forgotten it. What the hell was I going to say. . . ?
It was big, whatever it was. I haven't made up my mind what to do about Emily Ratajkowski. It is terrible to wait, but I am still thinking.
I must write tonight for I have to get an early start in the morning. I may be sorry in the end.
* * * * *
And after a restless night of little sleep and many vague worries, it is morning. My back hurts but not as badly as it might. I do not scream out in pain every few steps. It only hurts to stand or sit or walk. Oh, and bending down is awful, too. But less so than last night. I remember what the last thing I was going to write last night might have been. I ran into a fellow at the gym who I have known from the years when I was playing in a popular band. He was a bit younger and more enthusiastic about "the scene." There are a lot of people like that in life, people who are into "the scene." I can't believe, for instance, how some people keep up with their classmates from high school. The have Facebook groups and make announcements and show up for parties at the beach, etc. Glory Days. The fellow at the gym has continued to play music and has been in some very talented cover bands. He started a furnishings store and would go to Thailand on shopping trips. It has been successful for him and now he has three stores. I never understand this sort of success, for he really did it, I believe, for the drugs and the hookers. But he was able to make more than a living and now has a bar that serves hip wines and beers. And it is where people in that old "scene" go. Not just them, but them, too.
Anyway, he came over to say hello, and we chatted for a few moments. He told me he had moved into one of the famous old hotels that had been converted many years ago into condos. It is nice and you need money to move there which is why it was always the last residence of many of the town's wealthy older people.
"Are you ready to retire," I giggled when he told me?
"No, man, the place has changed, you know? A lot of younger people have moved in."
I was grinning and shaking my head, and he began to laugh.
"You know. . . older, like people in their forties and fifties."
I know people who live there. They are not in their forties.
Everybody always continues to think they are the younger crowd somehow, the hipper, better, more desirable people. It is part of sticking with the group, staying with "the scene." I guess that is why they do it. I can't.
But there is safety in numbers. I know that. It is no good being the oddly shaped dog you see in the distance walking across the horizon unless you are wildly famous.
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