DADDY sez...

I had travelled around town: to South Los Angeles, Redondo Beach, Lakewood, Torrance, Mar Vista... over 9 hours doing stuff and then I noticed my wallet was gone.

It was after midnight when I discovered this, and couldn't remember when I had it last. Disturbing. So I slept, figuring it would show up.

And it did appear this morning. I never put it in my pocket after putting on my clothes (??!?!).

I NEVER FORGET MY WALLET. Never, never ever. 9 hours of gone and not noticing don't add up.

Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure the catalyst for the event was the distraction of a few harsh words. I'm not saying I didn't deserve the words; I'm sure in many ways I did. Why I'm not beaten daily with pillow sacks full o' hard-cover books by everyone who knows me is an ongoing unsolvable mystery.

But that emanation thing: the flow of positive and negative energy has a tangible effect. Words heard, wallet forgotten, minor freak out. Some connection there.

Been an avid student of late regarding Energy flow and the use and abuse of Power. (You might say it's an obsession.)

The Yoga practice is a real eye-opener. The way my aphasiac/synthethist mind metabolizes the Yoga experience is to expand it and see EVERYTHING as yoga. Snacking, technical assistance, design, programming, driving, conversation, drinking beer... all collapse into the Yoga model as the Yoga model expands into everything.

Even the "white kids" (who are almost like children, only much louder) have turned into some fascinating iteration of expression, worthy of attention-immersion. They elevate the practice of Simultaneous Screaming to an art form. They practice that art often and with total commitment.

I noticed in myself a little cluster of attachment with Mr. Brown's wheel-spinning career-destroying ways. What is that I heard about the definition of Insanity? something like "doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different outcome".

I'm a little masochistic that way. Making myself gaze not just at the effortless and obvious beauty, but also at the business-as-usual desperate ways of being that I find (yes: JUDGE) to be more grotesque that any Nazi-type atrocity. Those things I have little or no control over in the lives of others around me, and the things in my own life I pretend to have no control over.

Gazing, unblinking; seeing if it's possible for all of it to be beautiful. Almoooost there.

And speaking of beautiful. "Confused & Experimental's" girly production unit, "Dance Good. Damn It!", did their piece tonight. And it was fabulous; burlesquey cheesecakey Busby Berkeley-rific. And FurBurger, she LIVED into it like she was born for it. I'd say she's the reincarnation of Betty Page except Betty Page ain't dead yet.

I even accidently added a "First Act" at the beginning. I stood on a bar stool trying to turn the overhead 'Busby Berkeley' camera on. It was confusing me, showing no indication of being on and the stool sort of bobbled on 2 legs which scared the crap out of the audience.

Though I had just downed a Newcastle, I was pretty confident in my balance. So while tweaking with the camera looking for life, I simultaneously played with the edge of balance of the bar stool so that the legs in front of me kept jumping up and down, threatening to collapse backwards and throw me to the ground.

Inside I was laughing so hard, wondering if anyone was getting that I was doing it on purpose now. Sweet. Dangerous as fuck. But sweet.

Abusing an audience: a worthy pastime.

Anyway, the Chimpies kicked ass (as usual).

But what really rocked was this Improv duet with Meg Wolfe and her friend whose name I forget (sorry.)

Holy Crap it was good! So fuckin' funny. Most experimental dance pieces are all "dancey" dance or artsy fartsy and vague and shit, so my Caveman Brain tends to wander - thinking about more interesting things like how an In n' Out Double Double burger would really hit the spot right now, or how nice it would be to masturbate while listening to Christian Banjo Music.

But their experimental/improv piece kept my attention. It was Transcendentally Hilarious: Super crazy retarded good, like hiccuping while drinking Coke with Pop Rocks in yer mouth as two cats lick the bottom of your feet.

Sorry, I just don't possess the language skills to describe how amazing it was. But take my word for it: MEG FUCKING WOLFE IS A FUCKING GOD!

And her little friend, too.

Plus... she's hot.

REALLY Hot. You know, the kind of hot that don't know how hot it is which makes 'em even hotter.

Yeah, THAT kind.

Even hotter than Greg. You see, Greg knows he's hot and ain't afraid of telling everyone all the time so basically just needs to be slapped sometimes. The big homo.

But you can't never bring yourself to slapping him because all other humans on earth are far more slap-worthy.

I'm sleepy.

And hungry. Probably because I only ate 4 meals today.