Monday, July 14, 2014

The Hunger Games

I’m convinced Kat Von D is my spirit animal. Kat Von D is this tattoo artist based here in L.A. The first time I ever heard of her was when she was in all the tabloids for dating Jesse James… the ex-husband of Oscar Award winning actress Sandra Bullock. I remember because I was under the impression that Jesse James, a notorious man whore who sleeps with as many different women during the course of a day as a baby does taking a shit, slept with her while still being married to Sandra Bullock. Now Sandra Bullock is this very funny, personable, girl next door type with an amiable unaffected beauty. She doesn’t cake on the make-up, no boob job, no bleach bottle dye job, she’s the good girl you’d be lucky to take home. So when the papers started to smear Jesse James’ mug next to this ratchet looking chick covered from head to toe in tattoos I was thinking, what kind of stupid motherfucker does this dude have to be to leave America’s Sweetheart for this pasty faced gutter whore with a tattoo on her forehead? From that moment, looking at her devilish figure from the cover of The Enquirer I made an immediate and deep judgment call about her.

Friday, June 20, 2014

The Good Day

I have been in the worst mood. Last week I think was the absolute worst mood so far since the “Happening.”  I have so been wanting to slide my laptop into my heart and just record all of the horrible depths of depravity that it has experienced, which is a little odd to say right now considering the fact that I am in one of the best moods I have been in since the “Happening”. 

Monday, May 26, 2014

Paging Dr. God

I recently went to get a physical checkup and it turned out to be an unexpected monumental episode for me. Part of it was just the whole hospital culture of being surrounded by older people and sick people and the unavoidable crashing into your mortality by being around so many of them. When I got to the doctor my head just swirled with the different afflictions that I could have or I could be incubating only to be harvested at a future appointment. 

Friday, May 23, 2014

The United States of Malcolm

The only problem that I have found with having split personalities is that none of them know when to shut the fuck up; “Split Personality” in the vein of naming different aspects of my persona. Not necessarily in the dramatic sense a la “Sybil” but I’m thinking more on the level of “United States of Tara” minus the severe sexual molestation beginnings and… actual psychological diagnosis.   It’s more of a literary effect I have unintentionally adopted to form more complex characters in my writings, I often covert emotions into fantastical paradigms then give them a name. I have no idea how healthy this is but there is something about the compartmentalization of my feelings that seems rather productive mainly because in the broadest of strokes, I’m a hot mess. I’m just an over-emotional, hypercritical (and hypocritical), passionate artist and it’s great when I can hone in on some of that fervor, call it Ralph, and then walk away. It just works for me.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Beautiful People Make The Prettiest Villains

Originally posted in the Male Media Mind

One of Aesop’s more flawed fables is that of the Fox and the Leopard. In it, the haughty Leopard tries to convince the Fox that he is clearly the more beautiful creature considering the luxuriousness of his mane and the magnificent embellishment of spots within it. The Fox in turn tells the Leopard that the cunningness, wiliness and guile within his spirit are more magnificent than any embellishment any animal could simply display within their fur, thus his inner beauty (as well as all creatures’ inner beauty) carries more resonance than any physical attribute ever could. The Leopard subsequently sulks away in defeat. The flaw, of course, is that while inner beauty is much more valuable than physical beauty, bragging about either attribute… kind of makes you a dick. If anything what I get from the fable is the idea of humility; of not being a Fox when you meet a Leopard. But a defense mechanism is a defense mechanism, and sometimes all a guy has… is his dick.