Work the scene ... and the scenery. Everything is "just details."
I've been relatively caught up in my own descending madness such that I have either forgotten or misplaced the majority of my responsibilities (only to myself). I still go to work with a feverish regularity. But it seems that I am forgetting to eat more and more often. Explanations are relatively hard to come by. I have always enjoyed eating and I believe that I continue to do so. I most certainly am not against eating (in theory or practice). And yet I find that, as the days go by, I am eating less and less often. The only reason that I can think of is that I am poor. Also, I am lazy.
The Satyr's Ball: beginnings and apologies
The Satyr’s Ball wasn’t just for the satyrs or the sexually adventurous. Though they did make up a large portion of the membership. And then, of course, there were the virgins to be ravaged (though they were only virgins the first night). We bought them in bulk overseas and had them shipped 3rd class freight. If one or two didn’t “make it” through transit, that satisfied the darker proclivities of some of the senior members. (You know, the ones who wore makes or hoods even though they weren’t supposed to and we all told them that they looked horsefucking ridiculous – especially while they were fucking the horses – but they did it anyway because they thought that they were too important to mix with us “common folk” or that they were too important and could have certain “information” (their involvement in certain “counterculture” clubs) getting out to the voting public. There is just no reaching some people.)
It was also something of an artist commune. Which was mostly the reason I stuck around. Mostly. Free exchange of ideas or some such. Working with the best of every field. Furthering “art” and other noble ideas. With a noisy background of deviant sex. Because that’s how us artists types roll. No wonder you middle Americans will never be invited to our parties. You prudish bastards. I was a writer posing as a actor pretending to be a poet. You know, one of “those.” Does it get any better? No. It doesn’t.
"Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone."
- Billy Joel, Piano Man
"Take me as I am. I've got nothing else."
- Isaac Aronson, First Confessions and Sorrow