Quiet
I can't sleep.
Or I wont.
Its hard to tell now which is true. Maybe both.
There is nothing now but the glow of the screen. I imagine myself within a cave, the only sounds belonging to the crickets outside a window my mind tells me is near.
Perhaps if I were to close my eyes, lay down in bed, sleep would follow. but something keeps me from this, and I am inclined to hold steady. Im not ready yet to give into the night. Not yet.
The nights are quiet here, but pass quickly,and in a blur. From midnight, now suddenly, 3 hours have come and gone.
Can this be true? I'm in no position to argue with the clocks. they speak, after all, in humming tones I cannot replicate- in waves I do not understand.
Time is no more than a myth to me. I thought an understanding would come to be between me and it, but we've yet to find one that benefits us both. I can only assume what it tells me is accurate. To a point.
My internal clock is somehow months behind, often times years ahead.
There is no order to these things. Not for me. But ive come to peace with this. Still...understanding? Rather, it rings in the resemblance of placation.
There is no understanding for me and time.
Time and space.
Space and reality.
Its all a matter of perspective.
And I lack the perspective this world seems to run on.
And I've no true desire to catch up.
Certainly not at 3 am on a quiet Friday morning, in the chilling solace of Sun Lakes.
Or I wont.
Its hard to tell now which is true. Maybe both.
There is nothing now but the glow of the screen. I imagine myself within a cave, the only sounds belonging to the crickets outside a window my mind tells me is near.
Perhaps if I were to close my eyes, lay down in bed, sleep would follow. but something keeps me from this, and I am inclined to hold steady. Im not ready yet to give into the night. Not yet.
The nights are quiet here, but pass quickly,and in a blur. From midnight, now suddenly, 3 hours have come and gone.
Can this be true? I'm in no position to argue with the clocks. they speak, after all, in humming tones I cannot replicate- in waves I do not understand.
Time is no more than a myth to me. I thought an understanding would come to be between me and it, but we've yet to find one that benefits us both. I can only assume what it tells me is accurate. To a point.
My internal clock is somehow months behind, often times years ahead.
There is no order to these things. Not for me. But ive come to peace with this. Still...understanding? Rather, it rings in the resemblance of placation.
There is no understanding for me and time.
Time and space.
Space and reality.
Its all a matter of perspective.
And I lack the perspective this world seems to run on.
And I've no true desire to catch up.
Certainly not at 3 am on a quiet Friday morning, in the chilling solace of Sun Lakes.
How Do You Close a McDonald's Window?
In a matter of days, I will once again be reunited with the missing halves of my horn and halo.
There will be much laughter, much drinking, and probably...much trouble. Oh yes.
Get your bail money ready, my friends. It probably won't be necessary, but it would certainly put her father's mind at ease.
Yep, after 9 years, he still calls me the devil. It's the red hair, you see. Yes, I return. But then, the devil never really goes away.
Las Vegas was ruled out, much to the relief of family. I'm told that Alexis and I in Vegas may not be the best idea. But c'mon people, it would be legal this time!
Oh, memories.
For those of you unaware, this is the girl that helped release me from myself. It had been a long time coming.
It really wasn't because of her, but it did happen with her.
And regardless of what her father and my mother may have thought, there was nothing done within each other that would not have been done anyway.
There was just more laughing.
And really...we were 17. I mean, surely, we've grown up at least a little since then. True, we haven't see eachother in something like 6 years, but Im guessing we're significantly more chill.
My few weeks back West have been surprisingly fulfilling. But now it is down to business. Oh demons, time to show yourself. I'll not chase you down, but I will keep my eyes open.
And something tells me if anyone is going to help bring those demons out of hiding, it's going to be the one who was there when all those demons were formed.
There will be much laughter, much drinking, and probably...much trouble. Oh yes.
Get your bail money ready, my friends. It probably won't be necessary, but it would certainly put her father's mind at ease.
Yep, after 9 years, he still calls me the devil. It's the red hair, you see. Yes, I return. But then, the devil never really goes away.
Las Vegas was ruled out, much to the relief of family. I'm told that Alexis and I in Vegas may not be the best idea. But c'mon people, it would be legal this time!
Oh, memories.
For those of you unaware, this is the girl that helped release me from myself. It had been a long time coming.
It really wasn't because of her, but it did happen with her.
And regardless of what her father and my mother may have thought, there was nothing done within each other that would not have been done anyway.
There was just more laughing.
And really...we were 17. I mean, surely, we've grown up at least a little since then. True, we haven't see eachother in something like 6 years, but Im guessing we're significantly more chill.
My few weeks back West have been surprisingly fulfilling. But now it is down to business. Oh demons, time to show yourself. I'll not chase you down, but I will keep my eyes open.
And something tells me if anyone is going to help bring those demons out of hiding, it's going to be the one who was there when all those demons were formed.
"There's thoughts in that mind that I would give my last arm to know"
I'm all foggy.
It happens.
My niece discovered the spiral on the back of my neck. Now all my spirals have been anointed with Sofia kisses. This pleases me.
My body is exhausted, but my mind wont let me rest.
This happens too.
So it goes.
I'm told Im too flaky. Too apt to wander. Too careless. These things float around my head. They are there, but in no true capacity to myself.
I'm anxious. Baffled. Bewitched. My hair is under attack. I'm wary of waking up blonde, Ive been warned this might happen. I must be cautious of drinks given to me. Some desire to remove my luck. For what purpose, I do not know.
It is in my DNA, I tell them. And now I worry of gene manipulation. Id be wise to keep these things to myself. But Ive habit to speak and act first. Considerations follow later, if they follow at all.
I tell myself I am getting better, but Ive no proof this is true.
It is not luck anyhow, not really. Id say I'm Even Steven, but then, my name isn't Steven. And I'm not sure I'm especially even.
Perhaps I should be drinking fermented tea to better restore my balance. Labels tell me this.
I have my doubts.
I suspect my niece knows more about this world than she is letting on. Ive been imploring her to reveal her secrets, but she only throws her head back and laughs.
Perhaps that is her secret.
I dig her sweet.
It happens.
My niece discovered the spiral on the back of my neck. Now all my spirals have been anointed with Sofia kisses. This pleases me.
My body is exhausted, but my mind wont let me rest.
This happens too.
So it goes.
I'm told Im too flaky. Too apt to wander. Too careless. These things float around my head. They are there, but in no true capacity to myself.
I'm anxious. Baffled. Bewitched. My hair is under attack. I'm wary of waking up blonde, Ive been warned this might happen. I must be cautious of drinks given to me. Some desire to remove my luck. For what purpose, I do not know.
It is in my DNA, I tell them. And now I worry of gene manipulation. Id be wise to keep these things to myself. But Ive habit to speak and act first. Considerations follow later, if they follow at all.
I tell myself I am getting better, but Ive no proof this is true.
It is not luck anyhow, not really. Id say I'm Even Steven, but then, my name isn't Steven. And I'm not sure I'm especially even.
Perhaps I should be drinking fermented tea to better restore my balance. Labels tell me this.
I have my doubts.
I suspect my niece knows more about this world than she is letting on. Ive been imploring her to reveal her secrets, but she only throws her head back and laughs.
Perhaps that is her secret.
I dig her sweet.
Boil and Burn
Do you ever get the feeling that the Universe, in its infinite wisdom, is intentionally keeping information from the likes of us?
I pondered this today as I watched the wind carry off with itself my remaining sense of time and space.
In all fairness, Id not had much to begin with.
Dark matter continues to elude me. I rather enjoy the extensive potential for answers such uncertainty provides. With no positive answer, after all, are not the possibilities limitless?
My mother, in her parental insistence, asks relentlessly what my plans for the future are.
Plans? Future?
I don't even have plans for the present.
After more than two decades, I'm baffled she still thinks to ask. Oh, but she does. Quite often. And my answer never satisfies her.
I think, then, she must keep asking in hopes that my shrug will turn into a well formulated, clearly defined, and bullet-pointed arrangement for the map of my life.
But Ive never been very good at navigation.
Ah well, it is not really the destination that calls to me anyhow. And as Ive no clear destination in mind, this is quite fortunate.
I fantasize of fitting my existence in a backpack. What do I really need, anyhow, but my sunscreen and a few outfits? At this point, I could do even without my shoes. Well, most of them. Id need at least one pair of heels. Brooklyn Love, or Shoes of Doom? Ive yet to decide.
My life a constant battle with the accumulation of useless possessions.
My heart is a vagrant.
In the next room, my step father battles with a stapler. It pleases me to know I am not alone in my arguments with inanimate objects. I suspect, however, that in this house I'm still alone in being argued back by them.
Those remotes are truly sassy, with an array of buttons which never seem to do the same thing twice.
But then, they are nothing compared to the toasters.
I pondered this today as I watched the wind carry off with itself my remaining sense of time and space.
In all fairness, Id not had much to begin with.
Dark matter continues to elude me. I rather enjoy the extensive potential for answers such uncertainty provides. With no positive answer, after all, are not the possibilities limitless?
My mother, in her parental insistence, asks relentlessly what my plans for the future are.
Plans? Future?
I don't even have plans for the present.
After more than two decades, I'm baffled she still thinks to ask. Oh, but she does. Quite often. And my answer never satisfies her.
I think, then, she must keep asking in hopes that my shrug will turn into a well formulated, clearly defined, and bullet-pointed arrangement for the map of my life.
But Ive never been very good at navigation.
Ah well, it is not really the destination that calls to me anyhow. And as Ive no clear destination in mind, this is quite fortunate.
I fantasize of fitting my existence in a backpack. What do I really need, anyhow, but my sunscreen and a few outfits? At this point, I could do even without my shoes. Well, most of them. Id need at least one pair of heels. Brooklyn Love, or Shoes of Doom? Ive yet to decide.
My life a constant battle with the accumulation of useless possessions.
My heart is a vagrant.
In the next room, my step father battles with a stapler. It pleases me to know I am not alone in my arguments with inanimate objects. I suspect, however, that in this house I'm still alone in being argued back by them.
Those remotes are truly sassy, with an array of buttons which never seem to do the same thing twice.
But then, they are nothing compared to the toasters.
"Zuh?" is for..."Zombies"?
I had an interesting lesson in violent male bonding dynamics last night. Two best friends, who swear they are closer to each other now because of this game, sat facing in folding chairs while each took turns punching the other in the jaw.
Oh yes, you read that correctly. It was disgustingly fascinating. They were so cordial.
"Okay man, which side, left or right? Okay, you ready? This side? Okay. You sure your ready?"
Pop!
And the room would go up in a roar. I sat there, shaking my head but unable to turn away. For round one, anyhow. By round two, however, I relocated to the kitchen, but found myself pacing and turning back to see.
There was no hate behind it. Not anything being truly directed at the other person. No bad blood.
And they'd shake it off and let the other take their turn. They sat only inches from each other. They really did seem to be bonding over it, oddly.
Like a tamer version of Fight Club.
And I turned to my brother and the rest of his friends, asking if this something all guys did, as Id never been privy to witness such a thing before.
As if it was odd that I was asking this question, they rolled in laughter and assured me it was not.
The one sat talking, with his jaw beginning to swell, tonguing his teeth in search of blood, about Zombie invasions. A book, I must now read, called World War Z, fascinated me. Written by Mel Brooks' son (Whose name, i apologize, I cannot remember), it is a compilation of first hand accounts of zombie attack survivals during the great zombie invasion of something like 2013.
The other, who had located blood on his battered right side, laughed as a plan of escape was being mapped out by his brother in bruises.
But this is a serious matter, you know. And so i turned to him and said quite frankly, "Oh no, you have to have a plan in the event of a zombie attack"
He did not agree with the seriousness of the situation, or so I gathered from the odd stare which accompanied his acknowledgment of my focused tone.
But bloodless over there, his eyes more red than a Rossetti girl's hair, jumped in excitement that another recognized this very probable threat.
Fear not my siblings in Zombie awareness, there are others all over. We must determine meeting places for when the time comes.
Sadly, the place to be at the Zombie Apocalypse (in absence of a well stocked, well quarantined military base) is going to be Walmart. Preferably in a small town. And before they open. Certainly not one of those 24 hour monstrosities . But one without any active personnel.
I mean, they've got weapons, ammo, food, televisions, camcorders, first aid, bathrooms. No showers, that is true enough, but it is strongly locked down, once the glass doors and windows are secured. And surely, even if surrounded by zombies, in a pinch, there will probably be at least one or two cars in the parking lot or nearby. All in all not a bad set-up
And you know what car would be wise to find? Thats right, none other than the environmentally thrashing Hummer.
These thoughts keep me up at night.
That, and the sound of jaws popping.
Oh yes, you read that correctly. It was disgustingly fascinating. They were so cordial.
"Okay man, which side, left or right? Okay, you ready? This side? Okay. You sure your ready?"
Pop!
And the room would go up in a roar. I sat there, shaking my head but unable to turn away. For round one, anyhow. By round two, however, I relocated to the kitchen, but found myself pacing and turning back to see.
There was no hate behind it. Not anything being truly directed at the other person. No bad blood.
And they'd shake it off and let the other take their turn. They sat only inches from each other. They really did seem to be bonding over it, oddly.
Like a tamer version of Fight Club.
And I turned to my brother and the rest of his friends, asking if this something all guys did, as Id never been privy to witness such a thing before.
As if it was odd that I was asking this question, they rolled in laughter and assured me it was not.
The one sat talking, with his jaw beginning to swell, tonguing his teeth in search of blood, about Zombie invasions. A book, I must now read, called World War Z, fascinated me. Written by Mel Brooks' son (Whose name, i apologize, I cannot remember), it is a compilation of first hand accounts of zombie attack survivals during the great zombie invasion of something like 2013.
The other, who had located blood on his battered right side, laughed as a plan of escape was being mapped out by his brother in bruises.
But this is a serious matter, you know. And so i turned to him and said quite frankly, "Oh no, you have to have a plan in the event of a zombie attack"
He did not agree with the seriousness of the situation, or so I gathered from the odd stare which accompanied his acknowledgment of my focused tone.
But bloodless over there, his eyes more red than a Rossetti girl's hair, jumped in excitement that another recognized this very probable threat.
Fear not my siblings in Zombie awareness, there are others all over. We must determine meeting places for when the time comes.
Sadly, the place to be at the Zombie Apocalypse (in absence of a well stocked, well quarantined military base) is going to be Walmart. Preferably in a small town. And before they open. Certainly not one of those 24 hour monstrosities . But one without any active personnel.
I mean, they've got weapons, ammo, food, televisions, camcorders, first aid, bathrooms. No showers, that is true enough, but it is strongly locked down, once the glass doors and windows are secured. And surely, even if surrounded by zombies, in a pinch, there will probably be at least one or two cars in the parking lot or nearby. All in all not a bad set-up
And you know what car would be wise to find? Thats right, none other than the environmentally thrashing Hummer.
These thoughts keep me up at night.
That, and the sound of jaws popping.
These streets blur by me in vague familiarity. Unsettling, but not entirely uncomfortable. I wonder to myself how nothing here has changed, nothing really. The houses, though being newer built on higher ground, remain essentially the same. More people, more stores. But not unchanged. That sinking feeling still there.
Odd reunions of lost people. Its not been all difficult to recognize. But that shift to the system- when you know who your eyes are seeing is someone you haven't seen in years, and might not see again for years more- It takes time for that to catch up in my brain.
There are citrus trees everywhere. Grapefruits hang over fences, lemons and oranges lining driveways.
Punks and drunks roam the streets. I'm in there too, somewhere, eager to take a walk one of these coming nights. To prowl the early mornings as I'm fond to do.
These streets were made for night walking. These are the streets that taught me.
Not these specifically, but those streets aren't far away. Perhaps one night I will drive to them and park my brother's car under those enlightening orbs of artificial luminescence. I will pass under them again, choosing my pace as I fade from darkness to light every 30 steps, letting my mind wander with my legs and eyes.
It all looks better at night.
I dream of running into my old cat. I dream.
But now I'm called back to the Valley world for breakfast at 1 p.m.
Odd reunions of lost people. Its not been all difficult to recognize. But that shift to the system- when you know who your eyes are seeing is someone you haven't seen in years, and might not see again for years more- It takes time for that to catch up in my brain.
There are citrus trees everywhere. Grapefruits hang over fences, lemons and oranges lining driveways.
Punks and drunks roam the streets. I'm in there too, somewhere, eager to take a walk one of these coming nights. To prowl the early mornings as I'm fond to do.
These streets were made for night walking. These are the streets that taught me.
Not these specifically, but those streets aren't far away. Perhaps one night I will drive to them and park my brother's car under those enlightening orbs of artificial luminescence. I will pass under them again, choosing my pace as I fade from darkness to light every 30 steps, letting my mind wander with my legs and eyes.
It all looks better at night.
I dream of running into my old cat. I dream.
But now I'm called back to the Valley world for breakfast at 1 p.m.
You know that weird feeling you get when you see your grade school priest on shows like the Tyra Banks Show?
No? Hmmmm....
As his website "KenDeasy.com" tells us, "Fr. Ken is no stranger to business...or Hollywood". The first time I saw him on television was when he was testifying on behalf of the Menendez brothers.
And for the record, I don't actually watch the Tyra banks show. My mother recorded it after my sister, staying home sick from school, came across it. The topic was the seven deadly sins. Ive no doubt he's much experience on the topic. In fact, im sure he's managed to create a few new ones himself.
Every time I hear about him, usually something television related, Im reminded of a story my childhood friend told me.
During an intermission at some theatrical production in LA, my friend ran into the man of Hollywood...i mean God. He was with two young women. They chatted for a while, catching up as Fr. Ken had recently been transferred to another dioceses. Parting ways at the end of the break, my friend was amused to see one of the young women turn to Deasy and say, confused, "Father?"
Oh yes. That story roughly sums him up, I think. Oh, that and the Tyra Banks appearence. If you watch it, you can see him quite obviously leering down Tyra's shirt.
I guess God gives immunity for things like that.
On another note, I leave to spend some time with my Hollywood tomorrow. Im thinking of smearing a thick layer of Vaseline on myself to keep the ego from permeating my senses. I imagine thats how it assimilates, by attatching itself to an unsuspecting and undefended host.
The family doesn't need more than one Hollywood.
No? Hmmmm....
As his website "KenDeasy.com" tells us, "Fr. Ken is no stranger to business...or Hollywood". The first time I saw him on television was when he was testifying on behalf of the Menendez brothers.
And for the record, I don't actually watch the Tyra banks show. My mother recorded it after my sister, staying home sick from school, came across it. The topic was the seven deadly sins. Ive no doubt he's much experience on the topic. In fact, im sure he's managed to create a few new ones himself.
Every time I hear about him, usually something television related, Im reminded of a story my childhood friend told me.
During an intermission at some theatrical production in LA, my friend ran into the man of Hollywood...i mean God. He was with two young women. They chatted for a while, catching up as Fr. Ken had recently been transferred to another dioceses. Parting ways at the end of the break, my friend was amused to see one of the young women turn to Deasy and say, confused, "Father?"
Oh yes. That story roughly sums him up, I think. Oh, that and the Tyra Banks appearence. If you watch it, you can see him quite obviously leering down Tyra's shirt.
I guess God gives immunity for things like that.
On another note, I leave to spend some time with my Hollywood tomorrow. Im thinking of smearing a thick layer of Vaseline on myself to keep the ego from permeating my senses. I imagine thats how it assimilates, by attatching itself to an unsuspecting and undefended host.
The family doesn't need more than one Hollywood.
Darkness
Last night I swam myself into exhaustion. Agitated to the brink of insanity, I refused to put in my contacts and devoured the darkness around me in a blur of total blindness. It was a heated pool, much to my dismay, as I ached to feel the ice cold water all around my skin. But it did not deter me. At that point, nothing could.
Ive not been swimming in years.
As a child, Id often take advantage of the night. It was so quiet then. With a house full of rotating siblings, silence was my golden apple. Id sneak out to stroll the streets, or take a dip in our frigid pool. My poor brother caught me one night skinny dipping when Id thought the whole house was asleep. My splashing had awoken him. After that, however, my nighttime swims were undisturbed. Unlike my brother.
I swam so fast and so hard my ears began to hurt. I wouldn't stop until my body refused to go any further. In time, it did. Much sooner than i would of liked. and so I floated on my back until I could force my body to go again.
Other people had appeared while i was under water, and I think they were talking to me. But I could hear nothing but a throbbing in my head and the fierce splashing of my arms and legs hitting the unnaturally warm water.
I could only assume that while I swam sightless, they would move out of my way were I to head for them in my erratic path.
When my arms and legs finally refused to go on any further, I got out. But frustration is not dispelled so easily, and it soon lured me back in for one more lap.
Once home, I could not move. My whole body was as lead, unfamiliar now to the trials such water thrashing will do to under exercised muscles. My arms alone were untouched. heavy still, but without stress or pain.
I thank my pull-ups for that.
The beating in my ears did not stop until my mother poured vinegar in them. I asked nervously if it was red wine vinegar, as i didn't feel my ears needed a dressing.
Exhausted, I fell asleep at far too early an hour, and awoke this morning wanting more. I wait for my nighttime to return to me, so that i can return to it.
Ive not been swimming in years.
As a child, Id often take advantage of the night. It was so quiet then. With a house full of rotating siblings, silence was my golden apple. Id sneak out to stroll the streets, or take a dip in our frigid pool. My poor brother caught me one night skinny dipping when Id thought the whole house was asleep. My splashing had awoken him. After that, however, my nighttime swims were undisturbed. Unlike my brother.
I swam so fast and so hard my ears began to hurt. I wouldn't stop until my body refused to go any further. In time, it did. Much sooner than i would of liked. and so I floated on my back until I could force my body to go again.
Other people had appeared while i was under water, and I think they were talking to me. But I could hear nothing but a throbbing in my head and the fierce splashing of my arms and legs hitting the unnaturally warm water.
I could only assume that while I swam sightless, they would move out of my way were I to head for them in my erratic path.
When my arms and legs finally refused to go on any further, I got out. But frustration is not dispelled so easily, and it soon lured me back in for one more lap.
Once home, I could not move. My whole body was as lead, unfamiliar now to the trials such water thrashing will do to under exercised muscles. My arms alone were untouched. heavy still, but without stress or pain.
I thank my pull-ups for that.
The beating in my ears did not stop until my mother poured vinegar in them. I asked nervously if it was red wine vinegar, as i didn't feel my ears needed a dressing.
Exhausted, I fell asleep at far too early an hour, and awoke this morning wanting more. I wait for my nighttime to return to me, so that i can return to it.
I'm not meant for the world of modeling. For more than one reason, my darling baby brother tells me. One of which is that I don't take direction well.
There was a photo shoot at the house yesterday. My brother Pat needed models for his knitting. I obliged, begrudgingly, because... well, he's my brother.
Baby brother, "Hollywood", was in charge of the photographs seeing as he's got the modeling and shooting experience. He demanded that I wear make-up.
"Like lipstick and mascara and all that?" I asked. He sighed heavily. "Yes. You have to wear make-up for photographs" he said. I Barely remembered how to curl my eyelashes. It's not that I don't wear make-up, Ive just never been told to.
Putting me in full sun right at the peak of afternoon, he told me to look up. Right into that fiery ball.
"But its burning my retinas, man" I told him. But this fell on deaf ears.
"No, keep your head up! UP! And open your eyes, fuck! Stand here. No, HERE! ok, your at a party, your having fun. No, fun! Where are you looking? And stop laughing! Put down your margarita! Stop drinking!"
No laughing, no drinking? What the hell kind of party is this? I can't work under these conditions.
Of course, He's my little brother, so I couldn't in good conscience listen to anything he told me. And in addition to that, he's an awfully mean photographer. So I got myself a refill on my margarita and continued to laugh with the other amateur models that make up my family. There was much heavy sighing coming from little brother. We were all very unprofessional, you see. Oh, except for him, of course.
He divulged to me that while working with models, its very important to tell them how beautiful they are every few shots. But he did not do this with me and my sister. "Perhaps that is why you are getting such a poor performance from us", I told him.
Fortunately, Pat was much more accommodating and was happy to keep the margaritas and jokes flowing.
The brothers left last night. But Hollywood's ego can still be felt. Its oozing from the walls of mom's Sun Lakes home.
Oh, but I do love him so. And perhaps one day he'll chill out and return to reality. But I have my doubts, for as long as he lives in LA, anyhow.
There was a photo shoot at the house yesterday. My brother Pat needed models for his knitting. I obliged, begrudgingly, because... well, he's my brother.
Baby brother, "Hollywood", was in charge of the photographs seeing as he's got the modeling and shooting experience. He demanded that I wear make-up.
"Like lipstick and mascara and all that?" I asked. He sighed heavily. "Yes. You have to wear make-up for photographs" he said. I Barely remembered how to curl my eyelashes. It's not that I don't wear make-up, Ive just never been told to.
Putting me in full sun right at the peak of afternoon, he told me to look up. Right into that fiery ball.
"But its burning my retinas, man" I told him. But this fell on deaf ears.
"No, keep your head up! UP! And open your eyes, fuck! Stand here. No, HERE! ok, your at a party, your having fun. No, fun! Where are you looking? And stop laughing! Put down your margarita! Stop drinking!"
No laughing, no drinking? What the hell kind of party is this? I can't work under these conditions.
Of course, He's my little brother, so I couldn't in good conscience listen to anything he told me. And in addition to that, he's an awfully mean photographer. So I got myself a refill on my margarita and continued to laugh with the other amateur models that make up my family. There was much heavy sighing coming from little brother. We were all very unprofessional, you see. Oh, except for him, of course.
He divulged to me that while working with models, its very important to tell them how beautiful they are every few shots. But he did not do this with me and my sister. "Perhaps that is why you are getting such a poor performance from us", I told him.
Fortunately, Pat was much more accommodating and was happy to keep the margaritas and jokes flowing.
The brothers left last night. But Hollywood's ego can still be felt. Its oozing from the walls of mom's Sun Lakes home.
Oh, but I do love him so. And perhaps one day he'll chill out and return to reality. But I have my doubts, for as long as he lives in LA, anyhow.
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