1. Monday, March 24, 2003

    yes, i get depressed sometimes. 

    not all the time. hardly ever any more. but i do. and today i was pretty depressed.

    just like most people sometimes i can think some pretty terrible thoughts when im bummed out. and fortunately those feelings dont last long.

    sometimes you cant see the light, you cant see the golden pot of gold at the end of the rainbow with the leprechaun napping next to it, all you can see is the rain, all you can see is the darkness.

    shadows.

    and just like a lot of people i have good friends, and some of the friends are really good and some of them are so good they say that they’ll drink wine with me and help me do my laundry and lie to me all the pretty little lies that help when youre feeling like shit.

    i do have the greatest friends.

    i know im not the vincent van gogh of bloggers, but i am crazy.

    ive got to be crazy if all these people say how great everything is on these pages, and yet i cant find a way to make a living at doing it when theres all these other people who wouldnt write good blogs if they tried who actually make good livings writing.

    im not a victim.

    i dont feel sorry for myself.

    for a good part of my adult life i have really respected the works of mr. charles bukowski, perhaps youve heard of him.

    besides being a very clear, simple writer, he lived a life of poverty for the majority of his life. but what is the best part of his writing for me, is he never complained about his lot in life. he would drink his wine and kiss the women and type on his typewriter and get overlooked day after day after month after year after decade.

    he never whined like a bitch, he never put a gun to his head on the stoop of his mansion in idaho, he didnt cut off his dumb dutch ear, he didnt trade arms for hostages. he just kept his head down and drove the lane.

    theres some big bodies in the lane right now, people, and the refs arent seeing things my way.

    which means maybe i am traveling a little.

    or throwing an elbow.

    or being dull.

    at a hundred and nine years old should i really be riding the bus to the xbi any more any way?

    this little experiment called lets see if you can pull hot chicks with no money no car no game can generate no better results than what the busblog has revealed. the answer is a unanimous yes, and all the analysis cant make it any different.

    but i am just getting older. and dumber. not funner.

    even my bosses boss said to me today that im not a young man any more.

    very famous person took me to lunch today and asked me if i would start off at the very bottom at a newspaper or magazine and i said yes right away and then i said yes again super fast.

    i say i dont want to work at kinkos but maybe thats what i have to do.

    is that what i have to do?

    i guess i could learn to bartend.

    or go back to directing.

    buffoonery + ham fisted theatrics + gawker + alabama