The beginning weeks of a new relationship are sometimes great...

There's the getting to know one another. There's getting tell the same old stories your X grew tired of, with brand new vigor. There's the anticipation of reaching that stage where farting is acceptable.

Then there's that unfortunate stage where you start driving each other crazy.

I'm not saying I've reached that stage yet, but that stage is chasing me down.

I was to meet my new friend for a wonderful night after work and when I arrived she never came to the door after I knocked and knocked. I wondered if I had gotten my nights mixed up after all I was tired.

I left a note and a bottle of wine at the door.

I left because I didn't want to scare the neighbors by hanging out and besides I had to find a bathroom really bad.

I arrived at my house all the way over the hill back in the Valley. There was a message from her and it seems she was in the shower when I was there knocking.

I was ready to head out and drive back over there, but she in her anger had taken the dinner she worked so hard on and threw it all away, or atleast in the fridge. She was sad and upset. She thought I had been unfair to her and if I could have just raced over instead of having the phone conversation things would have been better. The conversation just kept going around and around and to anyone listening in on the line would have thought it as pointless as we do now.

The talk just drove and droned into my head the fear that maybe I am not meant to be with another person.

I am suppose to be alone for the rest of my life?

I was starving and needed something in my stomach other than knots. I told her I was going out to eat.

She drove all the way over here to the Valley after working so hard on a night of dinner that fell apart to meet me. She arrived at the Restaurant about twenty minutes before I got there and she thought I had abandoned her.

The night was just beginning.

She even brought me some Popovers she made. We ate and then drove to Beautiful Glendale to get some Cinnamon Crumb Cake at Marie Callendar's. We talked and even some laughs broke through the hardening concrete our insecurities were laying over our hearts.

Maybe things were moving too fast. I told her how it still feels as though I was cheating on my x-wife, but not because I still love her but because of the routine of living with the same person for so long.

I know I need to grow up and move on.

Life is just too complicated for me. I hate hurting anyones feelings and often sacrifice my own for theirs. Then the only person hurt is me. Then the only person angry is me, at myself.

Today I slept most of the day. I had bad, scary dreams. Then some good ones ran the bad ones off. But then they're all bad if you wake up and find out that they were just dreams.

But living is scary too. And what's the point striving to make something of yourself and make it rich if the rich and famous can't get their shit together either?

Roy Disney gets his ass kicked off the Disney Board because he's too old?

Stephen King on his deathbed because of a pneumonia bout, and this after he spent several months in treatment when he was struck by a van and nearly killed and blamed by a crazy person for John Lennon's death?

Ozzy Osbourne said he was sexually abused as a child?

Genetic tests have proven claims by three Germans that the American aviator Charles Lindbergh was their father and led a secret double life for almost two decades?

Screenwriter Edmund Hartmann, who wrote great funny comedies for Bob Hope, Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis and the Three Stooges, died at his home in Santa Fe at 92?

Whats it all mean?

Whats the point in waking up, other than having to go pee after drinking all night?

Nothing you achieve in life will help save you from sadness and death.

But atleast I have Popovers till the Fasting starts again.

Sometimes the grass seems greener, but then sometimes not...

When looking at what I think is a successful person, I sometimes uncover that they are not that happy, or even consider themselves successful at all.

When I look at a filmmaker who seems to have been involved with hundreds of projects, yet none that I've ever heard of, I wonder just how successful they really are...

Not just because I haven't of their films and works, but it is odd how some artists only create one work and that becomes a huge thing in their success. It may not even be a boxoffice hit, it just captures attention even if few people see it.

I wonder a lot about whether I would like to make movies with big crews, lots of people swarming around, answering their questions, a team... Or would I rather create my little worlds and projects as a novelist, where I am alone dealing with just my imagination and filling a page at a time?

Sometimes it is lonely living the life of the mind. You certainly get to know your waiters and waitresses. Maybe you go to the same places to eat all the time because that is the only routine you have in your life. There becomes a certain mystique about you because people wonder what you do to make a living to be hanging out all day and night just thinking.

Some people think you're a drug dealer and ask you to hook them up.

Some people think you're a pimp and ask you to hook them up.

Some people think you're a theif and ask you to hook up their cable for free.

Mostly people think you're unemployed and ignore you. That too has it's advantages.

Sometimes I meet other writers and or screenwriters while I'm eating out. They tell me about their lives and things that they are working on. I hear about how they got this project and that, but how they're saving the good stuff for themselves while getting paid to churn out the crap.

Some are not so precious about their work. That is refreshing because so many are married to their own words.

Sometimes it is more fun to just watch movies than make them and sometimes it is more fun to read than write and sometimes it is more fun to watch porn than it is to...

Hey wait a second here, Buster!

Happy Day After Thanksgiving!!!

Or as they say in the Retail Industry, "Black Friday".

I had a great time last night. I visited my friend Gina while she not only used every inch of her kitchen to cook, but she used a few of her neighbors' kitchens as well.

She used a friend's oven to make Pop-Overs and bartered a few of those in exchange for its use.

I met her beautiful Mother and very tall brother, met a couple of her neighbors and a few Hasidic Jews from Temple down the street.

I looked at every photo in every photo album, tried every dish served, drank wine with a Mug Rootbeer chaser, and built up quite a bit of gas that I was able to hold without blowing a gasket.

I think it was a wonderful time... When I was finally free to let loose of the gas of course...

No actually, the dinner and talk was great. Gina went all out to create a very nice meal and her mother helped her with a couple of delicious dishes. Her mother made a great Sweet Potato thing that I hope I will get more of today as a leftover treat.

The Homeless were out in droves this morning, all bloated and sleepy. I had a quickly prepared treat of leftovers from another friend that I knew would go bad if I kept it, so I offered it to a guy I see around every once in a while...

This Homeless guy actually said, "No thanks, I couldn't eat another bite!"... that has never happened to me before.

I would love it if I'd offered some money and he says, "No, that's okay, I got too much money as it is."

The night last night was again, great! There is more I could say, but I'm now too busy living Today, so I'll have to tell ya later...

And since Gina's Mom is reading this... I can't tell you Everything, but I will say...

Reddi-Wip isn't just for Pumpkin Pies anymore!!!

Today things have been kinda weird...

This morning traffic was pretty much not here... Everyone was waiting to split town at about 11AM I guess.

People have been walking around like zombies. Thinking of creative ways to cross the picket lines without getting into some tumbles with Striking Clerks.

Maybe those of us who had to work are day dreaming of better things.

I walked past some Wardrobe people and Stylists getting reading for a big shoot this weekend. They too looked out of it.

Nothing is lonelier than working on a movie while your family is away in another State. You get close to some of your crew because everyone is sorta lonely too.

You say to yourself and friends that you'd never sleep with another crew member, but they start looking pretty good when it's close to the Holidays and there is no one you know to hold you when the craft service table packs up, the last ride to the Hotel leaves, or the Bar hits last call.

You see her walking by with her toolbelt carrying all the tape, Polaroids, Sharpies, and Walkie-Talkies... Hips swinging in her faded jeans.

Your job seems less important. You know the crap you're shooting is shit. They couldn't polish this turd if they froze it. You make some snide comment and you see her hide her smile in a square of foam core. Her eyes are dark and yet they sparkle and water up as they dart in your direction.

Your finger tips touch as she passes you a Leatherman to cut a cord. They linger and slide over the nails smoothly.

Later at an all night Laundry mat you are checking your callsheet and the clock on the wall to see if there is enough time for you in the scheme of things. She steps into the place.

She walks over and hands you a bag.

Inside she has saved the Desert from her dinner with the Product Placement Agent.

She's telling you something about her job and jobs she's had, but all you hear how lonely she is right now.

The cake is good. You forget about how much sleep you need and you forget about your clothes in the machine and you forget how lonely you are...

She's so close right now, you can feel the heat of her breath on your neck as she talks about growing up in the midwest, or where ever she said she was from...

Maybe you do, or you don't...

The wrap party is always awkward...

Maybe you don't even talk to her, or her to you...

You'll see her name in the credits at the screening and try to turn your head to scan the audience to see where she might be sitting. People are already filing out of the theatre and without her toolbelt on her swinging hips it's hard to pick out which ass is hers.

You pop open your car door and hear the beep of a passing horn as you catch a glimpse of her hand against the rain wet glass of the passenger side window, waving to you with the sadness look on her face. The car turns right at the end of the street and is gone from you forever.

Years later, you are married to a wonderful woman, maybe your not in the bizness anymore, but maybe you are...

The DVD you rented as an after dinner treat ends and the credits roll and you spot her name slowly rising up the screen. The memories flood back and your wife ejects the disc just in time to jar you back to the here and now.

You later kiss your wife with a bit more passion, because you love her so, but also to drown out the feelings you have floating to the surface.

You were different then. Another person. Now you have someone to be with on the Holidays. Someone to hold at night.

Someone to share the good and the...

Ah, you know...

Everyone I meet or talk to have been kind enough to ask me what I've got going on Thanksgiving. I think they are asking me to come by their houses for dinner if I have nothing else going on.

That's truly nice.

Out here in Los Angeles, there are many lost angels and they want no one to be lonely on the Holidays.

I've had so many nice invites, I could do the dinner hop and doggy bag it all day and live pretty good on leftovers for a good two weeks, I bet.

I think it's funny just how many invites I've received from out of State... That's an easy game to play. It makes one look very generous to offer a place to stay and free dinner when you know that there's no way one could travel in such short notice or short funding.

I think it would be great to see the looks on some of these faces when I show up on their doorstep halfway around the World.

Still it's the thought that counts.

My UPS Driver-Dude asked me what I had planned. I gave him the lite rundown and asked him if he's seen that new Turkey Flavor Soda that is now on the market? He had seen it on Leno, but guess he thought it was a gag.

I will have to try and find some. I hear Rum and Turkey go real well together.

I guess I will be meeting Gina's Swedish Mother on Turkeyday. After her reading all the personal stuff I wrote about her daughter, needless to say I'm a bit scared. So I thought I would learn a few words and or phrases in Swedish to show her how considerate I am. I have a rather large collection of 1950's Stag Films that are all in Swedish. I think I could write down and practice a few things from those movies and really impress her.

I think for her to hear a couple of kind words in her native tongue would send a nice message that her daughter is seeing a cool guy.

If you know any cool things to say in Swedish and can e-mail it to me, phonetically of course, that would be great!

I still have some time, but you need to send it fast so I can learn it before Thanksgiving Dinner.

I'll let you know how it goes...

Wish me luck, they only Swede I ever knew was the Swiss Miss Chocolate Girl when I was a kid. Man, did I have a crush on her.

I had a great time today and even a good time tonight!

I'll tell you more after I take a nice hot bath and after "joe Millionaire" is over.

Well, the bath felt good. I really like taking hot baths.

Tonight I used Honey and Buttermilk in my bath.

My skin is so silky smooth that I can't stop kissing myself. I hope I don't throw my back out.

I checked my e-mail and see...

Man, I sure do get strange e-mails.

Someone just e-mailed me and asked if I thought Joe Millionaire is circumcised? How the hell would I know? Or even care.

But, as I thought more about this I would guess he probably is.

Next to that e-mail was a nice letter from Ray Bradbury thanking me for an e-mail I sent him for his Birthday. Great guy!

Please don't ask me if he is circumcised.

While sitting in my hot bath, I thought about the days events...

The Thrift Store shopping...

The Cheeseburger and fries at Coral Cafe again...

The visit to my Bank...

The drive to Monrovia...

Pasadena...

Sierra Madre...

Arcadia...

Wal-Mart...

I wasn't alone on this excursion. I had my new friend Gina with me.

We talked and laughed.

At Wal-Mart, I needed to pick up some Baby Wipes. She seemed surprised I wipe my ass with those moistened Aloe sheets of gentle love.

She in fact seemed disgusted. This might be a relationship breaker. If not just a steep road bump.

I quickly made up a story about using them to wipe my hands as part of my germ phobia. This lie seemed more acceptable. And it shows me that if you use a disability as an excuse you can get away with a lot.

As we walked out of Manny's Pizza in Old Towne Pasadena we stopped in Pottery Barn, I thought I might someday use the disability that I am a Sex Addict. I'm not, but it is a disability and if I met a girl on the street and told her I was, maybe her Nightingale mode might kick in and feel for me.

Or if I was in a serious relationship and got caught banging another broad, maybe I could use that excuse and both girls instead of beating me up, might feel for pain and double up on me in a Romantic Sexual Triangle.

Sometimes when Homeless Dudes ask me for money, I act retarded and they let me pass without payment.

That move won't get me laid, unless it's another retard.

Wouldn't if be a great world if retards looked like Victoria's Secret Models. Think of the help we'd be giving them.

I was walking with Gina down Colorado Blvd in Pasadena, past the Mac Store and past the Guess store and The French Connection, I was asking her about what she thought the future held for us and as she was answering I caught a flash out of the corner of my eye. I turned around and walking past us on the sidewalk was another me.

Alone and sad.

I knew it was me. We had somehow stepped in an area where time converged, streams were crossed and I encountered me walking past myself.

I knew how he felt, how sad, lonely and even angry, but angry at himself for not doing what he needed to do to take care of himself.

Gina didn't notice this. Her mouth moved and I heard nothing as we walked. Time was slowing, but my thoughts were speeding up.

I remembered showing Gina something that has always bothered me.

We were sitting in Krispy-Kreme Donuts store in Empire Center and in an effort to get all the baggage out I held up my wrist to show her the scar of when I had tried to commit suicide when I was much younger and even sadder.

I was embarrassed to show it and embarrassed that I as an adult held that same sad child inside me and could be so calm about it.

I hadn't really looked at the scar in some time, but I noticed that it had moved over the years and my skin slipped and stretched across my body. The scar is now slanted across my wrist and not straight across as it once was.

I covered up the embarrassment and the seriousness of the moment by quickly showing her a trick of how I can move a thick vein on the back of my hand.

She said nothing as I believe she had seen it before. So soon and I'm running out of material to entertain her.

She was still talking as we walked and I knew I had better listen to her as the present is just that a Present, a gift that the past and future shouldn't compete with...

I wondered if the me that past me was from my past or maybe my future...?

I became depressed.

I heard her telling me about a Bakery that she loved. We arrived at the end of the block and the bakery was no more. Locked up, boarded up and dark.

No smell of bread, no life but ghosts.

We paused.

I tried to catch up in my head as to what she might have experienced there, and what she might have been trying to tell me.

We then turned and retraced our steps back.

In the parking garage, in her car, I made her laugh. She laughed hard. I was being funny and silly. She looked so beautiful while she was laughing. I wanted to get serious for a moment and kiss her. She continued to laugh. The kiss would now be awkward.

Sometime being funny is painful.

She had a photo shoot earlier in the day and the makeup artist was great because she looked great.

We should always have hair and makeup artists do us up before we head out into the cruel world.

She looked amazing.

I felt my skin on my face erupting into pimples.

I pulled down the passenger visor in her Mercedes, the light on the mirror blasted me into the reality that my face was in fact covered in red dots. I quickly shut the visor back up.

Lights out!

Now it's safe.

The dark is my friend.

I need to meet hot looking Blind girls who won't be affected by my hideous looks.

I need to be blind to my looks.

We should all be blind.

Think how great radio would become.

What's pleasing to the hand is not always pleasing to the eye and that is sad.

My skin is still silky smooth and that feels good, but on closer inspection, my skin doesn't stretch and go back like it did twenty years ago.

Why have I lost the hair on my head, yet hair is happily sprouting up on my back and in my ears?

Why do girls like to rub fat bellied and hairy Teddy Bears, yet many seem to want hairless hardbodies?

These questions really are pointless to ask, and they distract one from the important things in life...

If sock monkeys are acceptable why aren't socks made out of monkeys?

I haven't said anything about it but I received a very nice surprise from Live365 who host the online version of my Radio Show that you can listen to for free by clicking on the link on the left.

I got this nice e-mail:

Subject: Your Live365 station...
Date: Thu, 13 Nov 2003 16:37:02 -0800

TOTALLY ROCKS.

I am featuring it on the homepage and in our newsletters.

This is one of the best uses of our service I've ever seen.

Thanks so much for creating it!

best regards,
betty ray
live365 senior editor
======================

They have done just that! If you go to their home page, there's a nice feature about me and my show.

Yesterday I hungout with my friend Aaron. I haven't spent as much time with him as I use to do. We both seem to have things going on in our lives, but when we get together it's like it all falls back into place.

I spend the rest of the night blabbing on and on, on the phone with my friend Gina. That is until she nearly passed out from me talking endlessly about myself.

If anyone had walked in my place today they would have thought the house was decorated with bean bag chairs, but I spent some time filling Hefty trash bags with crap I should have thrown away years ago.

Later today Gina came over and we walked all up and down Ventura Blvd window shopping and stopping in the store Handmade that use to be cool, but now there seems to be little that is actually handmade.

We then drove over to the Virgin Megastore and I found a new book about Pearl Jam that mentions my film, "Angry Blue Planet" that featured the band as well as Bjork and other cool bands from the Alternative scene. Yes, I was trying to impress and felt stupid for doing so...

Well, somebody has to blow my horn, cause nobody seems to be quick enough to get a toot in edge wise...

Gina's mom may be concerned that I have been too forth coming with her daughter's personal life and the graphic sexual detail I have printed here. So in an effort not to be self censoring, I have decided not to have sex with her anymore, but she is allowing me to have sex with other girls as long as I stay her close friend. She is very understanding and open to me having sex and not only writing about it, but also videotaping it as part of my artwork.

Yea, she's cool!

While going through a box of JFK material I had collected, I remembered how I used to go to the local gun club and scoop up all the spent bullets that piled up after hitting the targets. I would then drive over to the Grassy Knoll in the evening and sprinkle the lead all over the place so visitors could get a sense of the magic.

I also was looking for some signed Michael Jackson Albums I got when I knew the Tour Manager on the Jackson Family Tour. I thought now might be a good eBay Day.

Sadly, the only autograph I have is Tito's...

Sometimes I like to climb trees and look down and see all the branches and leaves. It gives me ideas.

I did this while Michael Jackson was on the run.

I didn't get any ideas, but since it was a palm tree I was climbing, it didn't have any branches, but it did have rats nesting in it.

I try not to get all caught up in the whole media thing, but it is exciting in a way.

I was hoping there would be some kind of O.J. like getaway like in the White Bronco, but Jackson would probably just jet off in his Lear, then hijack a Space Shuttle and escape to his Home World Crib.

How can the C.H.P. compete up with that?

I was hanging out at my favorite pie-hole stuffing place last night and I overheard another table talking about Jackson and I thought they had some interesting things to say.

One gentleman, who was either a Psychiatrist, or played one on TV, said that Jackson's cosmetic work may be due to a deep seated desire to be a woman. He talked about the Transgendered and their maternal emotions...

A woman said she believed his cosmetic surgery might be his need to hide himself from seeing his own image in the mirror due to his guilt over his crimes...

Then another of their Doctor friends said, "That nigga's crazy!"

I thought alot about what they said, that is until my cheeseburger arrived that I never thought about it again until just now... Come to think of it, I'm ready for another cheeseburger.

This weekend is packed with exciting events, however I shall be jumping in and cleaning my apartment again!

This time, I'm tilting it up on it's side and pouring it all into a dumpster.

Last night while clearing a path to the restroom, I couldn't help but get all caught up in emotions every time I picked up an object from my past just to have a space where my foot had unobstructed contact with the floor.

I believe this is why it has been difficult to pick things up around the house.

I picked up a pair of broken sunglasses that I should have thrown away long ago, and instantly I was transported back to when I received them as a gift from a former lover.

I picked up a book about Cybernetics that was also a gift, but one that I purchased along with a box of condoms for a night of fun that became too mechanical and ended in total shutdown and power failure. I never used the condoms, but the book has come in handy many times.

I picked up a pizza box and I could instantly remember the excitement of getting it over two years ago from that Papa John's Pizza driver as my last meal before the Atkin's lifestyle changeover. I opened the box and realized there was still half a pizza all petrified and moss covered in the box.

Some things just need to be memories and not saved as objects to clutter ones life.

Well, I have been busy tracking Michael Jackson down...

He is so slippery. He keeps altering his appearance and that makes it difficult to find him.

It's so funny how these big shots get away with stuff. He gets arrested for buggering a child, yet they let him take off and decide when he can find the time to come in, I get pulled over for a headlight being out and I get a ticket, humiliation and terse words for an hour.

Strange world.

My friend Gina cooked me another great meal with the biggest steaks I've ever seen and then we walked and carried our bloated bellies all over the new shopping mecca The Grove next to the Farmers Market over on Fairfax.

It was alot of fun walking and talking and drinking A&W Rootbeer.

I barely recognized the location, you know, what it looked like before. Things change very fast around here.

You get used to place and before it has a chance to age much, it is destroyed and something new is replacing it. History lost. Building built to be easily demolished.

It's hard to get comfortable when you know the chances aren't good for it lasting.

I think that's why Restaurants have a hard time building a regular costumer base. People like to build a tradition, or just like to grow into their favorite meal groove, and if they think it won't be around...

They are reluctant to put in the effort to attend on a regular schedule.

Then the place closes.

I think people give up on relationships for very similar reasons. One person might not enjoy another's architecture, or personality, or style. One might be a collector of people as one colects houses and buildings in experiences, photos, and memories.

People get renovated like houses, too. They get extreme makeovers. Some get rundown and demolished, decay and dismantled, bought and sold. Salvaged. Robbed. Abandoned.

Abandoned.

So close to the Holidays. Imagine how fun it would be to find an old abandoned house in you neighborhood and ignore the warnings and dress up the house in Xmas lights and Poinsettias and Mistletoe.

Give it one more kick start to the heart to getting it breathing again. Think of the fun knowing families driving by and wondering who lives in that place?

Maybe you know of someone like that...Abandoned. You could spend some time with them on the Holidays. Dress them up in Xmas lights. Electrocute them... Okay, that's going too far!

If instead of returning gifts, why not give them to some strangers that might really use them. The Homeless have many uses for those bad gaudy neckties... They help tie down loose items they're hauling on the grocery carts.

Be creative! Visit nice landmarks around where you live and take lots of photos of yourself in them, those landmarks are disappearing fast...

Just like we are.

I was driving by the Capitol Records Building, you know the one that looks like a stack of 45's...

Kids? 45's were slightly larger than DVD's and rotated on a thing called a "record player"...

Anyway, I was thinking about that scene in the movie "Earthquake" where the building collapses and all those cool awnings fall.

I then saw the new trailer for the movie, "Day After Tomorrow" based on the Art Bell and Whitley Strieber book... It shows the Capitol Records Building being demolished by intense winds.

Check it out:

Day After Tomorrow

I talked with Art Bell via a streaming audio/telephone/shortwave link up and he's definitely building another driveway so the Brinks truck has easy access to his prefab compound.

Something appealing to be seeing Hollywood destroyed...

Why do we like seeing things like that in movies?

Seeing the Hollywood sign ripped up by a tornado is somehow fun.

Strange how the rejection we get, or just the shunning, or apathy we receive from those so called Gate Keepers, is taken out on the landscape. So and So didn't understand my pitch, so I hate Hollywood...(?) Huh?

I know, it's weird.

I wonder if the property, mountains, nature, absorbs this anger and hatred?

Maybe that's why we have so many disasters here.

So it seems to me we inflict it on ourselves.

We hate big expensive movies, say we need to have smaller, quality films, yet we still drag our asses out on opening weekend to deposit our votes for the crap we say we hate.

We hate seeing homes burn up in wildfires, slide down in mudslides, shot up in home invasion robberies, yet we buy in those kind of locations, because everyone is...

We want healthy happy relationships, yet our eyes stray to the next hot thing that passes by...

We meet great sweet potential girfriend material, we know their mother reads our websites, yet somehow see fit to tell all about our dinner date in amazingly rough shocking detail...

We hate seeing obese people, alcoholics, druggies, suffer, yet provide the candy stores and gifts to enable them to continue to be part of our addiction to criticize the state of things.

Sometimes the greatest things are right in front of us and we are looking too far ahead to see them.

I was talking to a friend about when I was a little boy. I asked her if she had seen, "Man in the Moon" about Andy Kaufman and how when he was a little boy, he would put on shows in his bedroom.

I too did this. As lots of people do.

I lived where we only got two channels of TV reception, about three stations of Country Music Radio, and one Drive-In movie Theatre... But all the cows you could ever wanna tip.

I had a bed that fit in a closet. The headboard and the foot of the bed both touched wall. At the foot of the bed there was a small dime size hole where someone had pulled out a nail and broke though the paneling.

I could stare at the hole in the wall for hours on end dreaming about the little city that lived inside the rocky slopes and valleys of that craggy hole.

They too needed Entertainment and I provided it daily by putting on shows on the bed. They were insatiable. They were very needy, but always receptive when I stretched the boundaries of performance.

However, that said, several of my Variety Shows were canceled without really giving them a chance to build an audience.

One show I worked long and hard on developing involve an Alien Sock and a Know-it-all Shoe Robot that solved crimes in a Space Station in orbit on a Planet made from the biggest Quilt in the known Universe.

The ratings were dismal. The reviews were brutal. The people living in the hole didn't even give it a chance. They kept wanting silly half hour comedies and jiggling boobs... Hard to supply when you are an Eight Year Old Boy!

Even in reruns those shows still brought in the numbers.

Still, I did my song and dance and tried to introduce new material and plot-lines to spice up my Space Show, by cross promoting them with the other successful shows, but the sponsors were very hard to please...

And finally, not only was the entire line up canceled, but one day after School I discover my Dad plastered up the hole and destroyed my career and all those millions of little lives.

Yesterday while remembering those tough days as a young Network Executive, it occurred to me that now that I'm older and somewhat wiser...

I could find another hole to entertain.

I received an e-mail from "Alice" saying she can tell from my recent posts here that I've been getting some...

She says my writing style has changed.

Another friend has questioned why I wouldn't give up the weenie for a Hot Russian gal, yet I must have to some American chick because I seem happier than before.

I try not to keep anything from this page. I want to tell as much as I can, when I can.

The Russian incident became just that, an incident that caused problems once I mentioned them here...

And great as it was as a boost to a sad and depressed man, my rejection of the offers made to me out of fear, lead to hurting someone very nice and very kind.

Now it appears women like me...

They sense my power, seek my essence... I do not reject women, Mandrake, but I do deny them my essence...

Okay, That was my impression of Sterling Hayden in, "Dr. Strangelove", I just saw that again for about the hundredth time.

I wonder if my boost in confidence is helping me get noticed more by women, or is it because the Holidays are getting closer and no one here in lonely Hollywood wants to be celebrating X-Mas alone with eggnog and a dildo.

Can't tell you how tired of that I am...

Again, I want to tell you everything, mostly my feelings, but I don't want anyone hurt.

I know the new girl I've met is cool about it as she has been reading this page to learn more about me...

As frightening as that is, what's more worrisome is the fact that her Mother has been reading this page too.

So that last thing she needs to read is how her little girl has mastered an amazing talent that involves meat and the mouth.

She made Beef stew and it tasted so good. Meat and mouth.

You are so dirty minded!

After the Beef stew, desert was her sucking my cock like it was a honey coated hose siphoning my Morphine soaked balls...

I hope her Mother isn't reading this because I think they are kind of competitive when it comes to cooking, and her Beef stew was really good.

Earlier in the evening I was tending bar at a Gallery showing and the tip jar was filling up fast due to my witty art scene banter and suave velvet jacket. The elderly and wealthy, poor and crafty, the sexy and sexless all came to me for their drinks and subliminal insults.

I had never made so much money in tips before, other than that sad event in a Greyhound Bus Station one summer in Tulsa that I'd rather forget... Thanks for bringing it up...

The money was good. All stinky singles, but two people liked me enough to drop two five dollar bills.

At the end of the night, it looked like a thousand dollars in my hand. When I asked my friends to guess how much, they said, "$35.00", "$40.00", and even, "$15.00"...

$15.00!!! I had two $5's and a fist full of dollars!

$15.00?

Well, their low-balling my rewards depressed me so much I didn't bother to count it.

Later, while in bed on my date getting a third blowjob in a series of marathon blowjobs... My mind momentarily drifted up and out of my penis and floated aloft to land on my jeans drapped across her hardwood floor flat like a chalkmarking at a homicide.

I wondered just how much cash I had in my wallet?

She stopped for a bit to breath and with a smile excused herself to use the restroom. We had consumed much wine... Thank you Francis Coppola, for starting a vineyard.

While she was gone I jumped up and grabbed my pants and dug out the wallet containing my prize winnings from my enabling alcoholic art lovers.

I quickly peeled out the cash and began counting.

The loose cash fell onto my bare chest. I fumbled it. I heard her flush. She was coming back.

How embarrassing is this going to be, to be seen with all my tips spilled out on me like an ATM machine pulled out and ejaculated all over my stomach?

She stepped into her room and stared at me.

I began giggling like a retard in a retarded candy store and said something like, "I'm not sure what you charge, but I just wanted to leave you something for all your good work."

Great, Jerry! Whore jokes to this amazingly sweet girl who took you in and treated you like you are the greatest thing in the World.

She cared enough about you to spend her whole day fixing up her house, getting dressed up, putting on her makeup, making a fantastic dinner, listening to you drone on about yourself, renting "Wings of Desire", undressing you, getting on her knees, looking up at you while she drops your swollen cock on her tongue and pulls it in her warm, soft, wet mouth and all you have to do is stand there, enjoy it and think there are millions of people in this World that have no one that cares whether they live or die and will never know love, or feel love, or best of all... Give Love.

Give Love.

I left her place at 4:30-something in the AM. It was cold and raining and dark.

I drove home to the Valley. I did't even turn on the radio. There was music and static in my head.

I was tired and scared and excited.

I was also sore and raw.

Crossing Hollywood Boulevard on Highland, I spotted an old homeless man. He was standing right out in the rain. I was the only traffic at that time.

No one sucked on his cock tonight, I thought.

What am I doing? Can't I be happy for myself? Will I ruin this too?

I sat in my car outside my dark apartment building on my dark street. Feeling the last breath of warmth billowing out from under my car's floorboard heat vent.

I didn't want to go in to my crappy apartment. Dirty and smelling of a dead divorce, dead career, and deadened and numb feelings.

I wanted to be in her bed. With Her. Warm and clean and alive.

I didn't want to drive back, I wanted to run back, I wanted to fly back, be transported there, I wanted to never have decided to leave her house and go home in the first place.

I wanted to destroy time and go back to her.

I also, want to go back and never have married before...

Go back and and and punch out the bullies, adults, teachers, parents, girlfriends, that could tell me I was ugly, stupid, lazy, fat, or wrong...

I will be loved again... Maybe not by you, but someday I will be able to love myself and respect myself...

But until that day, maybe I can crawl into her loving arms and close my tired burning eyes and listen to her heartbeat and drown out and quiet the static sound of doubt in my head.

Maybe under the warm blanket, she'll move her lips up to my ear and whisper, "It's okay baby, I'm here..."

I sliced my left hand index finger with a boxcutter Yesterday.

The blade went length-wise and deep.

It didn't hurt at first. The cut was so clean that my mind at first didn't initiate the pain.

That is until the blood started seeping out. Once my eyes saw it... The pain kicked in.

It is now a dull throb timed to my heart beat.

Pounding against my tight bandages. Pain wanting to be free to grow and spread.

I never realized just how much I use this index finger till everything I come in contact with causes it to pulse with pain.

I dreamed a Woodpecker was drilling a hole in my finger to build a house. I told him no, but he couldn't hear over the jackhammering.

I made my hands into a cup shape to hold him still, but my hands and arms turned into branches of an old tree.

I was so startled by this I tried to run, but my feet have become roots buried deep into the soil.

More birds came and began nesting in my parts.

I stood up to try and shake them loose, but I was achingly slow.

When I finally stood tall, I was towering over my little Honda.

I looked down to it so small. I knew I would never be able to drive in it, or sit in it and listen to the radio...

I just watched it from above.

Then all the birds began shitting all over the roof of my car. A rain of shit showered down.

The sound got louder. The sound of shit hitting my Honda's roof.

I woke up. There was a rushing in my ears. A ringing.

I was dizzy.

My finger was throbbing.

Hello World!

Last night I walked with my friend Gina down Larchmont Boulevard. It was nice and cool.

I like this weather. You can dress in warmer clothes that are stylish. You don't have to wear jeans and t-shirts like in the heat. I however wore jeans and a t-shirt last night, but I also wore an old worn out jacket.

Shabby chic slightly Goth/Biker/Nazi.

We walked by cafes and boutiques.

Saw sad growling dogs waiting for their masters to unleash them from parking meters.

Saw babies ready to bust out into a run through traffic as soon as their mom's attention waned.

We stopped by Real Estate window dressing to notice the postings for new overpriced homes. Gina pointed out a home on her street that was 2 million too much.

We gave my stomach a rest stop from the Fast by eating slices of NY style thin crust cheese pizza outside under a gas heater that burned my naked scalp. We ate and talked while they loaded up a truck with the largest order of pizzas I've ever seen, for the William Morris Agency.

No wonder their Agents are so constipated.

It was sweet and romantic.

Moments later... The sex was...

The unbuckling of the belt, the slow unzipping of the jeans, the cool hand slowly feeling under the elastic band of the underwear, the shock of finger tips gently touching my penis, the quick grab of the shaft like the action grip of a snake handler, the pulling of the cock out of the pants that have slid away by gravity's pull...

If only Gina had been there to see what happened next...

Well, nothing, because there was a call from a relative and nothing is an erection extinguisher like the sound of a family member's (no pun please) voice.

Unless incest is your thing.

I couldn't even get back in the mood.

All alone again staring at the ceiling watching the lights of passing car performing drive bys shine through the blinds leaving streaks across the room and retinas.

Waiting for the radio to play a good song that never quite comes...

Sometimes it's difficult being me I think.

I think I over analyze things while they are happening. I find it hard to just go with the flow and let life wash over me.

I deal with artists and creative types alot of the time. It is stimulating, but I find many of these people very annoying. They have opinions that they MUST express to you. I don't mind so much until they try cramming them down my throat.

I don't mind when it is ideas they want to show, or tell me...

I like to think I'm an artist too, but maybe my audience is just the scrambled personalities partying in my head, and then there's the voyeurs that like to eavesdrop in on the din and they hopefully get some fun out of it... My head that is.

I think sometimes about the success that I see others having with their work and wonder if that success is just part of the art they create.

It's like maybe their success is an illusion that is part of the magic they are selling.

I loved Bob Hope as a kid, well I still do, but I know from those that knew him, that he was weird and sometimes mean. But there is a snowball effect he created by everyone THINKING he was greater than maybe he was. Even after his death that snowball is still rolling and growing bigger.

He will now have the Burbank Airport named after him. Hollywood Blvd and Vine already have that intersection named after him and now... Bob Hope gets Post Office named for him.

I mean come on...

The guy had writers writing his jokes.

I know a lot of people do. I don't write this myself either, but what I'm basically saying is that he knew how to delegate.

Walt Disney did to...

And many others are very good at that...

I need to get in on that delegation action.

If I could only get people to do everything for me... Write my books, make my movies, wipe my ass... Maybe I could get someone to actually live my life for me.

Then die for me.

Then be reborn for me.

Then others could devote their lives to me.

And then they could die for me.

Then they could be reborn.

Or we could all live and pay others to live and die for us, or use special effects and make it look like everyone died and everyone lived.

Then we could all go to a fake Heaven or a fake Hell.

Get others to act like they are suffering.

We could fake the pain and suffering, but maybe we could all agree that the happiness must be real. No method acting here, no it must be real.

Or we could just create "REAL" whatever that is.

I have a mailbox named after me... That's a start!

It's suppose to rain. I can't wait!

I had quite a scare last night when I listened to my answering machine and heard a woman calling about a possible job, then telling me two European men came to her asking questions.

I thought, How did they even know about her unless they had my phone tapped, but then I remembered the hacking of my server.

I called her to see what was up. Turns out she reads this site and was pulling my leg about the guys interrogating her.

Everyone is a joker.

I am becoming a bit paranoid. Oh, well, what can I do?

I was sent a few pictures of Jessica Lynch in my e-mail. I don't know if these are the Larry Flynt collection but she's cute. I would probably be a tad upset, but now that she is downplaying her hero status and the accomplishments of others, I thought I'd look at them a little while longer before deleting them.

The e-mail came with a subject line, "Photos of Lynch in the Nude", so I got very excited because I thought they might be photos of a nude David Lynch.

I was sad to hear that Art Carney is now dead at 85.

He was an Oscar and Emmy winner and a cast member of, "The Honeymooners," he died five days after his 85th birthday. I think if they ever make a movie about his life, Ed Norton should play him.

Some truly magical things have been happening to me lately as you know. I recently bought a light green candle that I burn while standing in from of a full length mirror in a darkened room chanting a very cute little affirmation for positive assistance from the Spirit World.

Standing there nude, holding this candle I say, "Every Day in Every Way I Am Better and Better..." and some other stuff in Latin (I think) while hot wax drips onto my feet and between my toes.

Nothing really happened for me until I slaughtered a lamb and drank it's blood, then the party started!

The first amazing thing I received from the Universe was that I miraculously found a coupon for a free lube job.

Then from out of the clear blue sky, I found stuck under my windshield wiper as if Gawd himself put it there, was a flyer to get a free credit report.

I know what you're thinking... It's too impossible to believe, but...

It's all true.

These last few days have been amazing!

Time has flown by so quickly that watches and clocks have melted and gone limp.

Secretly, though not my intent to hide anything from you, but more as a way not to jinx any future hope of finding friendship. I have uncovered a penpal that has struck a spark and ignited a fire in my darkness.

After many days of writing back and forth I decided to call on her to see if she would be interested in seeing "Love Actually". She said yes and we met for the first time in the flesh to see this film.

Maybe it was the strange guests of emotions I was entertaining that made the movie so touching to me, or it was just a great movie, but I was moved and quite taken by the show and the penpal.

There were nerves vibrating and stuttering and stammering and awkward silences and the fright of onrushing words and sentences that were unstoppable and dared to flood any cool that had been built to impress...

Then there was the amazing sense of comfort that eased it all but the pounding of the heart and the lump in the throat.

Hours passed. Talk. Questions. Walking. Window shopping. Sitting in a parked car listening to Coldplay and Ricky Lee Jones with the moon roof open to a cool breeze and a full Moon. And some answers that led to more questions.

Then the difficulty of saying goodbye for the first time came.

The replay of the day while alone again staring at the ceiling holding a pillow listening to the radio and having THAT Coldplay song come on just at the moment on THAT memory.

My face hurt from smiling.

Did my face hurt you too?

The next morning the first voice I wanted to hear was hers. Then a shudder of fear that maybe I had dreamt it all.

My dreams are very realistic even when they are about monsters.

We meet again. This time to see "The Matrix: Revolutions"... I was worried as I hadn't heard anything good about it, but it was free so how could I really get too wound up.

Throughout the movie I kept thinking about the tagline, "Everything that has a beginning has an End". Was this a sign?

Was it meant for me?

If you know every endeavor you start on, must end, Is it worth the journey?

She asked me, If I was a Fatalist?

I hope not.

Sometimes when we were kissing I could feel the excitement of my mind not only quieting and shutting down, but also the the sense it was floating away and leaving my heart to function alone.

Last night I headed over to Santa Monica to see an exhibit of some Digital Photography.

The images were distorted through some kind of program that enlarged human body parts. The mostly nude photos all appeared to be pictures of J-Lo's ass. That seems to me to be what they looked like...

The event was at Santa Monica College and it was the first time I had ever been there. I was surprised to find a Starbuck's Coffee shop on the campus.

I met some nice people and headed back out into the traffic.

I stopped off at a couple of places on the way back home. Amoeba's was hopping and crowded. I tried to picked up a Daniel Johnston CD, but got distracted by the DVD section and a guy who asked me all sorts of questions about my jacket. I think I was being hit on. How could I tell? I won't say.

I went by the Burbank Equestrian Center to see the horses and see if a friend was still there running a party that I tried to attend, but was too late.

Then to Frontier Wok to meet the latest employee they have hired.

All this fun just to keep myself from the actual work I need to be doing with the video I am suppose to be finishing.

A pen pal friend... Do they still have those? Yes, I have been involved with a couple of pen pals, but one I seem to really hit it off with sent me a great book about life in Greenwich Village in the 40's and 50's. That is one of my favorite time periods and the author talks about some of my literary heroes.

Today I am meeting this pen pal for the first time as we have decided to see, "Love Actually"... I know. But I really like Richard Curtis movies. "The Tall Guy" is a fun favorite of mine.

While sitting here at the computer I noticed what I thought was toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe, but it turns out to be a note left by a neighbor in the apartment building telling me that someone stopped by to ask her questions about me.

This note must have been slipped under my door and I stepped on it coming in.

This is getting a tad freaky.

I'm not hard to find. These guys must just want to intimidate me by talking to everyone who might know me.

There have been a few hang ups on the phone.

You might just get contacted by someone because you have visited this website. Sorry, I don't know what to do about this right now.

We'll just have to wait and see.

Okay, let's see if this goes through...

I'm still having trouble posting since the hacking.

Today I met a really cool girl who has a very interesting dark quality about her. That could just be because she was wearing Black. We seem to share similar interests. She reminds me of Christina Ricci, Thora Birch, and Theda Bara all rolled up into one decadent absinthe laced chocolate... I don't know, I think I'm insane.

Maybe my magick rituals are working.

I hope with all the candles I'm burning the house doesn't get torched.

My neighbor came by to tell me a Government plated car pulled up outside and two well dressed guys asked him questions about me. They had accents he said, but he couldn't tell me where they were from... And supposedly when he asked them for some ID, they thanked him and drove away with no answer.

Then he said a couple hours later they we're parked outside again waiting for over an hour.

He has definitely got me wondering what's up. I have been looking in the rear view mirror a bit more.

So many of my friends have worried about me since they couldn't see my posts here. Now, with all this fun stuff I'm sure they'll have plenty to talk about.

There is a lot I want to tell you, but I am backed up with work because of all the delays I have had with the Internet and changing of all my various passwords.

I will later try and catch up on some cool great things that have happened... Unless something horrible happens to me in the mean time.

Okay, I know it seems I haven't posted in a while, but I actually have daily...

It has all been lost in some destruction of the past few days. I have had to change passwords on everything.

I don't know why or who would care to do this...?

I've been warned that some Russian interests might be behind this, but who knows.

I will as soon as I can let you know more about all the adventures I've missed out on... And some that I haven't.

Someone hacked my website I'm being told. It has been off line for most of the day and night. I wonder why I was chosen and by whom?

It is cold and my muscles ache and I think it's time for me to run a hot bath filled with Tangerine Creme and candles around the tub.

I need some romance and I'm just the guy to give it... To myself.

I went to sleep Yesterday at about 6PM so I'm wide awake at this time. Nuthin' on TV but infomercials, the bad ones, not the bad funny ones.

I've slipped into a slump of sadness this morning. I don't know why. Maybe the weather change... I don't know. I decided to try a sugar rush and took a break from my Fasting and Atkin's to drink a chocolate shake. A good breakfast choice I think.

Still no rush...

I remembered having a bad dream so that might be contributing to this current funk.

In the dream I lived in a throughly modern house with concrete floors and chrome furnishings.

Very sterile.

I was attempting to clean the floor as I noticed small confetti and pieces of paper left over from pages torn from a spiral notebook.

I bend down to scoop them up in my hand and from across the room I saw a large rattle snake bearing down on me at a very fast slide.

I couldn't move.

My knees were locked.

It was getting closer and closer.

I reached over and grabbed the vacuum cleaner and turned it on and tried to suck up the snake into the machine.

It fought the pull of air. But as it did it still kept getting closer.

I put the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner right on the head of the snake and it shot right up the hose and then the most horrible sound of grinding came from the motor as blood and chunks of snake meat splattered out from the beater bar under the cleaner.

I realize two things when I wake up... I have to go to the bathroom and I was snoring, but as a bonus thought...

Man was that dream Gay!

I read that Minnie Driver is said to be working in a sweatshop, that's sad that her career is going that poorly. I wonder if she's been working on Puff Daddy's clothing line?

Looks like comedian Dennis Miller is the next in line to host and soon be canceled from his own CNBC Talk Show.

Calcutta celebrates Mother Teresa's beatification... Beatification? Is that like a makeover? She's dead right? Can a Saint get an Extreme Makeover? And is that really fair for us mortals that need it?

Earlier Yesterday I ran into a couple who I knew from my filmmaking days. They were asking me about how my filmmaking was coming along?

I just realized this may in fact be the cause of my depression...

Because I couldn't give them an adequate response. I want to be expressing myself more through film and video, but have really nothing to say... as is evident by this page.

These two looked down, looked at each other, smirked, pointed and laughed at me, then pushed me onto the ground and kicked me right before squatting on me and then defecating all over me.

I felt bad about it after they left. I wish I'd said more. They seemed to really enjoy my pain.

Maybe the best revenge is to live well... But, I would like to live well AND kill them at some point in time.

The rain here last night was so great and amazing. It pelted up like acid in "The Devil's Rain" melting everyone's makeup for Halloween.

I drove my friend Andrew around from Hancock Park to Silver Lake to Echo Park then back to beautiful, safe, and lovely, NoHo... It was great seeing kids and whole families enjoying themselves after all the fire stress.

I headed over to see some friends at Coral Cafe. Everyone was dressed up that worked there... There is some cute girls there... One girl dressed as Sally from, "Nightmare Before Christmas" and she seemed upset that I didn't dress up as Jack Skellington as I had mentioned I might. Jennifer is a spunky gal who dressed as a Cheerleader. It was fun watching her reach up to pick up an order waiting to be taken to a customer. You could look up her skirt when she got up on her toes.

I of course had to tell her that was what I was doing, so she slapped me. The other day I really hit it off with her when she was telling me and my friend Sherri, the Fetish Model that the reason she was wearing jewelery and big false eyelashes was to pick up some extra cash. She was talking about getting extra tips by getting all decked off, but I thought she meant she was hooking on the side, so I asked how much she charged... She hit me.

Today it is bright and sunny and... Well, I was saddened that the rain didn't stay longer and I heard on the radio that the heat is coming back for more victims next week. Possibly more fire then too I guess.

I saw my friend Aaron today. I haven't seen him in a while and we had fun chatting. He's been working real hard on a new movie that should be coming out soon. Plus, he's busy dating a new gal and that's exciting to see.

I was trying to think of a movie to go see today, but I don't really know if I'm in the mood. Maybe I should go make one instead... There's a couple of "Figure" models that I know that have met each other a couple of times and have seem to hit it off, maybe I should get a hotel room somewhere and make a movie with them...

Nah, maybe I'll go see, "Brother Bear". Maybe I should see that in a Magic Johnson Theatre so I can hear someone say, "There no Brothas in dis cartoon! Gimme my money back!"

The day is slowly slipping away and it is nice and quiet now.

Maybe I'll just nap.