Metafiction

As I was finishing up the last blog entry about facial hair, Adri popped in a started laughing at the picture I was posting. I started to read outloud to sort of explain the photo, and he stopped me and said "Why don't you record yourself reading your blog entries?"

I had thought about that, actually. I love reading outloud. Probably the thespian in me. Sometimes I'll come out into the common areas of the house and ask "Does anybody want me to read to them?" Usually the only one that complies fully is Marta. She's even had me read a couple of the Karmath blog entries to her, as well.

So, thinking about recording my voice, I went out to get a bottle of wine (was a shut-in night anyway, snow storm and everything). I sat down and looked at a couple of my favorite entries, turned on the equipment, and started reading. I recorded takes of me reading entries starting at January 1st, ending a week later. I then listened to the entries and the MP3's, whilst slowly getting drunker and drunker.

So, for the rest of this particular entry, you can follow along with an audio track:



Listening? Good.

This whole entry got a little bit more potent, more . . . transcendental, you might say.

It's a Lizard People weekend. Lizard People practicing, drumming galore, for the show on Tuesday night. My arms are tired, I'm hungry, and I skipped out on a supposed photo shoot for Marta's photography class to write this/read this, have some soup, toast, and an apple, maybe take in a flick, go see Angela for her birthday get-together at the Kitty Cat Klub later. She apparently has Jenga blocks ready to be stacked. Drunken Jenga . . . I've done Strip Jenga. Kinda interesting. Back in high school. I got to my underwear. Some people were hiding themselves behind pillows. You know, that's a cop out, now that I think about it! What's the point if no one can see what you've lost? You're beaten, trodden, defeated! I want to see you bask in your naked weakness. You failed, and you should be punished.

This way of thinking is probably why I was never asked to play Strip Jenga again with that group.

Taylor and I had one of the most random, disgusting, awesome conversations this morning over my breakfast eggs and toast. To sum it up, using a quote from Taylor: "What would you lick if you were a professional licker?"

We had watched Juno the night before, and the author of the book had been a stripper at the nearby Deja Vu strip club before she became famous. She wrote a biography about herself, including an anecdote about some guy who would go into a private booth, watch her strip, and then lick the cum off of the ground. The guy actually got off on licking up other people's cum -- crusted, sticky, full of disease. He was nicknamed "Cumlicker".

This got us thinking: he should become a professional "licker". Paid to do freak show stunts, lick anything. Lick the most diseased thing you can think of. So, I surmised that I would go to a gas station in the middle of a highway crud town out west. I'd spill gasoline all over the floor of the bathroom stall, have two fat people who haven't cleaned themselves for at least two weeks have sex on the floor, cumming and all. Then I'd take a mop that hadn't been cleaned before (and had been used for at least a year at the establishment) soak up the filth and grime into a cleaning bucket, then drink the contents, lighting my mouth on fire after doing so. I'd bow, go off camera or offstage, then throw up (you could throw up, it was allowed, so long as you did it after your act).

Taylor said he'd do his act in Calcutta. Rats are not killed, cows poop in the street, any sort of substance you can think of gets washed into the sewers and out into the River Ganges -- a river people actually fucking bathe in for holy reasons. Taylor would lick one of the drainage pipes spewing out all of the city's combined filth. A little bit of religious significance. A lot of spectacular freak show.

This entire conversation was over eggs and toast . . . and I never had to stop eating. This puts things into perspective about my gross-out factor.

I'd have to say that that was one of the best conversations I've ever had with Taylor.

Tom Waits -- "In the Colosseum"