February 23, 2001

Things have been a bit batty around my way.
There are so many strands of responsibilities to hold fast to all at once,
That I just grab the strands now in frantic clumps,
Forgetting what they are or why I should be holding them.
What a mess.
Some guy crashed into me on a rainy Monday a week ago.
I felt like an irresponsible fool:
My car is totaled & I've only been driving for 3 months.
But it wasn't my fault.

So, life is bedlamite, but it's darn good.
I'm going out to do so much good stuff.
The strong highlight of last week was a performance of The Last Poets.
The featured performers, however,
Were upstaged considerably by the spoken-word artists which came before them.

Kamaoo Daood made the show for me.
He preached & sang the kind of religion I could really get into;
Based on love and tolerance but also
Resistance & taking an active role in shaping one's world.
It is a rare & beautiful thing to walk out of a concert,
Burning with the delight of being alive,
The sense of personal ability, strength, and a certain
Basic love for everybody.
For that night at least, the pessimist & cynic within me was choking on his own foot.

I've seen a few good movies, most notably Ed Harris's Pollock.
It depressed the hell out of me but really gave a good perspective on his work.
I still don't love Abstract Art,
But it provided a context that made the work eminently more interesting.

I also just finished reading How To Talk Dirty & Influence People
By Lenny Bruce.
That spawned me to hunt for & procure two out-of-print texts:
One by his wife, one by his daughter.
I realize that art is so much more involving when I feel like I understand where the artist was coming from
As a person.
I find so much material on Lenny Bruce's performances, but so little about him and his life.
I wish everyone in the whole world kept a diary that was web-accessible,
But I realize it may be too much to ask everyone to be an exhibitionist like that.
So, Lenny's gone & I don't have much of his personal accounts to go on,
And I'm thinking about becoming obsessed with his daughter instead.
As far as I could rustle up, her only other claim-to-fame
(Besides being the daughter of America's great "sick comic")
Is a role in a trashy exploitation film called Switchblade Sisters.
She plays some large, dumb chick called "Donut."
Apparently, Tarrantino's gotten all nuts for this film recently,
So her day may come again in the near future.
I just wonder what she's up to these days.
She's probabaly a middle-aged marketing director for a computer company,
And is sick to death of hearing about
Her wild parents & The craziness she grew out of.
Even still, I'm aching to know.
Where are you, Kitty Bruce?

So, I met a really cool writer online.
Then at a coffeehouse.
It was very beatnik, except not really at all.
Some of his writings can be found

Here.

And Life is good.
I love my friends & family and the maniacal well of junk to do,
Which never seems to get any more shallow.
Maybe life is better when you're always on the go.
(Or at least always feel like you are)
I bet Kundera would back me up on that.

Go Home