1000 men and women are groping an elephant. They’re all blind, so none can see the whole thing. And the elephant is huge, much larger than a CVS pharmacy. One guy is holding the tail, saying “Ugh, it’s all wiry and weird.” Another is rubbing the skin above a knee, saying “It’s so leathery!”. A lady is holding a giant elephant penis, saying “I think I’ve found a leg!”
I’m sitting here at my desk. It’s 10AM, but I feel as if I’m on Tokyo time. I make my coffee with two coins of 80% dark chocolate, brown sugar, and instant café mixed with hot water until dissolved, and then with added whole milk. I drink it out of a pyrex cup I bought in Milwaukee.
Last night I took a late night stroll as I tend to do. Downtown LA is inundated with homeless and partygoers on a Saturday night. Not homeless partygoers mind you; rather it’s as if the homeless and the partygoers are living in two different worlds. One world is like heaven, and the other is like hell. It’s hard to know which is which.
I saw my friend’s Patreon. It said he’s ‘creating 69 ballsack’. I’m grinning just thinking about it. I thought to myself, I should write something and call it ‘69 ballsack’.
I’ve tasted every meal. I’ve drank every drink. I’ve imbibed every drug. I’ve been to every party. I’ve slept with every hot girl. I’ve heard every song. I’ve watched every movie. I’ve cooked every dish. I’ve heard every joke. I’ve been to the new grocery store, and tried the chickpea cookie. All of the verbage of life seems to muddle into a dull experience. From now on, I will be piecing together new experiences from the Lego blocks of previous ones: eat the meal at the new place, fuck the girl at this location, meet the friends here. Like madlibs shall I construct my memories, and in concrete forms shall they lay. Experience is overrated; forever will I crave the maddening impulse of conversation, a mutual, inertial breaking of the senses that goes and goes.
I was outside the one place nearby that’s open 24 hours, and I was waiting for a coffee. I saw a beautiful girl in an orange croptop, waiting by another table. I was so into her. Then she walked away with her group of friends, while checking herself out using her phone camera. As soon as she was out of my vision, from the opposite end, like an entrance stage right, came a homeless man crab walking. He was amazingly dirty, and zombie-like. He lowered himself to the ground slowly, and then, like an animal, began to drag himself on the ground. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, but then I got it - he was on the ground looking in the cracks of the pavement. But surely this couldn’t be that profitable? I wondered. Yet he was there, covered in grime, cheek to the ground and fingers in the cracks. I watched him for a long time, much longer than I looked at the pretty girl, though I would rather be looking at her.
I feel like I dabble in subcultures. Except they’re like sub-sub cultures, and then maybe even one level deeper - momentary windows into the mind of an archetype. I dip one toe in and indulge myself on the transience, then I leave. Sometimes I stay in it for months, sometimes for just a day. It’s so tiresome, really. How nice it would be to just be one thing - there goes Earl, the shoemaker. That’s Gordon, the writer. Alas the restless mind tugs this way and that.
Be a music producer. Be a man slut. Be a Michelin-starred chef. Be a man of God. Be a computer programmer. Be a hikkikomori. Be bisexual. Be a nerd. Be an atheist. Be a fitness influencer. Be a feudal lord. Be a screenwriter. Be a Mormon. Belong to things. Things are in the state of belonging. Your things, belong to you.
I might try my hand at fiction… I should develop that Disneyland bit I wrote on my phone. I should program a Twetch bot that makes procedurally generated NFTs whenever you tweet at it (stay tuned). I should finish my Elmore Leonard screenplay adaptation… 69 ballsack, 69 ballsack, for God’s sake man. I can’t participate in this gay shit anymore, but just when I think I’m out… they pull me back in. One day, they’ll have to say.. that’s Shirish, the… uhm… hmm…..