the UK used to run the world; now they're all happily on Welfare.

this is not a real post. just an explanation as to why i'm partially speechless:

in the states, being on welfare is like running around saying you have sex with infants.
in scandinavia and the UK, it's like proudly saying you have Viking blood.

wires sputtered and crossed and fizzled out in my head when i was just there complaining about not having it all in my welfare show.

no, but truthfully, i was actually overwhelmed by the affectionate energy i got. i'm not kidding. i can only explain the feeling as this:

if i were on my deathbed, riddled with cancer after living in a basement where the windows were covered in tin foil, and i was rolled to the hospital in a gurney and woke up with a bunch of old friends surrounding my bed and saying they've been there all along, THAT's what going out to the UK was like. i get all emotional sometimes. the naked faces and pure emotion.

no one was flippant or wasted each other's time with being cavalier.

and it was like being in that hospital and standing up and taking that apricot scrub and going into the shower stall and exfoliating off all that cancer like road rash scabs after a motorcycle accident.

and then i was fine and strong. AM fine and strong. and when i came back to the movie deal, i was good and strong and pure and full of Love with a capital "L" and i'd already seen the first season of "Mad Men." And in signing the existent movie deal, i felt like a secretary from 1962.

in other words, i felt like "the writer."

"the writer" is the one who gets burning, blinding spooge of everyone else's creative excitement in her eye, and in the end must sleep--no, LIVE--- in the wet spot.

not me. i have done my wet spot sleeping time. checked that off the list. once you're all-too-familiar with the clammy, gelatinous feel in the small of your back on a garish sunday morning, you know that the rest of your life is about crawling to the promised land.

in The Promised Land, we all get to ejaculate but we have the forethought to have a turkish towel at our sides this time.

and who can afford the turkish towels?

why anyone who read "hoochie mama" knows we imagined the suburban garage sales en masse 9 years ago. being ahead of your time SUCKS. it's not romantic until you're long-since dead. even then, who cares? we're just looking for ironic stories.

we love how van gogh was insane and poor and how much his paintings sell for now. what do you think MADE him insane? my only surprise is that he didn't stab his ear canal with paint brushes. a little snip here and there was definitely holding back.

it was mighty "white" of him. a puerto rican Van Gopez would stab OTHERS in the ear canal with her pencils.

that's just the way it is: tiger went tiger.

and that's why i had to kill the existing movie deal.

because i've done my girly boot camp. i have slept in the wet spot for years. i am 41. if boys want to re-discover their prostate pleasures, then THEY get to splash around in the wet spot for awhile. i'm going to enjoy what is turning out to be a life of salad days.
if women can't rear children and be single-minded career dames, what makes my producers think they can have it all?

they can't. at least not with moi.

still...

they have multiple houses and i share this tiny apartment with Thames.

but it doesn't mean i've lost.

there is no race.

it's just the way it is.

Tiger went Tiger.
thank you for showing up at shows and getting involved, and for writing me, and for ordering and being patient. THANK you for being there and being a part of my life. this is my dream come true. to have many friends involved in working toward something bigger. it's not about me spinning around on the coffee table saying "look at me!" i could care less.

see why i can't write just yet? i'll write more. all is good. any little death is the opportunity to test your mettle and make something better.

thank you for giving me the proof that i'm right in how i want to live for myself. it's not insane. thank you for patting me on the back so that i have the courage to be the woman that i want to be. even when i'm not sure, i get a cool letter from a new reader or an old reader, and i feel connected and not so isolated. too much isolation is disconnection for me.

THANK YOU for being connected. please please pleeeeease pass it on. write a fan letter to a friend or an acquaintance. please! you have NO IDEA how beautiful that is. it's better than flowers. give a compliment---shallow or deep. about a dress or a nose or a deed.

Thank you so much...

e