Who shook my coffin?
No, I’m not abandoning whatever previous blog(s) I have shat out into the interred-net. Well, not yet. But after a hiatus of many lifetimes I’ve decided to perform again – in a PVC catsuit, powdered wig and spiked Louboutins – to shock-boogie the world to nuts. Oh my audience of voyeurs. Oh the intellectual effects of skin-tight leather jeans, as Umberto Eco might put it. Probably not the wisest of ideas – to splay and strut the peacock feathers of my personal life but who gives a shiz.
So here it is: the seeds of my performance, a bit of grain in the well-oiled machinery of things. Nah. Just a lady(boy) humming, singing, dreaming, telling tales and spitting lies of who, what, where, when, how she has tripped along the circumference of the known and unknown worlds. The indecipherable text, for instance.
Now – that time has passed, and I’m overripe – I’m back.
Whether this shit assaults the most sacrosanct of my principles or not, castigating the Imperial Author, in effect, “You’re casting pearls without even getting a pork chop in return!” is wholly irrelevant – my rock star ass is back!
It will change absolutely nothing in the world – will not save Africa or resurrect Ayn Rand or make me skinnier but, from Byronic I go – Bionic.
The myriad offers of sexual liaisons may or may not reappear – for who in this present hell-fenced-in world would want to hook up with a dry frumpy scholar? – but I will not give a rat’s ass. Been there, done that.
I start this blog with dubious intentions, though – but in this space a heart shall arise; a mind will be made. Ha! Well, there is nothing more amusing than the real thing, to see your many-masked Self traipsing on a stage, a non-stage, a multi-dimensionally Borgesian labytirnth like this one, to be filled with silence and gall. Weird shit happens when you are a Multitude.
Happy new year you!