Fuck You John McCain

Fuck You John McCain for telling the world that the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was a ‘sad day’. This is a small step toward equality for gay people in the USA. One Small Step.

The Senate vote is a vindication of Obama‘s decision to push for congressional repeal as opposed to unilateral executive action, though activists note he could have done both.

I am in Whitstable at my friend Carol’s house. She is having a huge party. It is thumping loudly in the cellar as I write. I know everyone in the house..everyone. This is small town living and I love it. Carol’s handsome son is a chef and has made delicious food.

They are downstairs drinking vodka and gin. They are listening to Senegalese music. They are eating the food and clapping and we are all wearing false moustaches.

I fell asleep.

At 5am I woke up and wandered downstairs to see what was going on and ended up with some good-looking 33-year-old. Really sexy man..blue eyes, hairy tummy.

I have been thinking a great deal about the life I left behind in LA. I wrote to a man I see around town called Dan Halstead..a manager. At his behest I wrote a little note explaining what has been going on with my health…sooner or later I will write in-depth here about the tumor..anyway, I wrote explaining everything and I received a two-word reply. I wondered why I even bother?

Before, before the show, before Jake, before returning to my home town..I would have been disappointed. Now, I just think it’s funny. His constipated reply made me laugh.

LA, NYC, LONDON…Sydney. The list goes on. I wish I could start again. Just like I did when I got sober. I started again and everything was new. Born Again.

The truth is: I am so disconbobulated that I don’t know where I should be.

Earning so much money these past months from selling art that I presently have no financial worries…but you know as well as I do…the drama, the interminable drama continues.

I could really do without what has been happening this past year.

Left a message for Phil to call me. When she returned my call I couldn’t bring myself to speak with her. It’s fucked up. Yet, I have held onto her for many years (for all the wrong reasons) so that she too becomes just part of the narrative.  The unfolding drama of my life.

On a good note I have been speaking to writers informally about our project. I think the majority understand what the film is about. Most of them get it but can any of them write it?

I am really enjoying watching British TV. Good political debate, fresh ideas and very little tabloid sensationalism. The news, when not competing for ratings, does as it is meant to: inform impartially.

Thinking a great deal about AA and my other 12 Step programmes and how much time I have wasted adhering to a programme that looks to all the world like some kind of white country club. There’s more to mine there, these thoughts about my cultish AA.

Really want to get back to a time where I was free of resentment. It is a gruelling, miserable state of affairs. Every fucking day my loathing is renewed.

Have a great deal to sort out and the only way I think I can sort any of it, overcome the profound sense of loss is to create..make something useful.

Disney Land

The photographs from the last depression: thin people holding onto life. Today’s depression: the morbidly obese-holding onto life. Jenny saw larger guests who couldn’t squeeze the turnstiles at Disney Land. She saw a woman dipping a huge turkey leg into a vat of mayonnaise. How are these people meant to survive or fight any revolution? They are already dead men walking. Like geese bred for foie gras but with no healthy liver to spread on brioche. These people have nothing, absolutely nothing to look forward to.

Loaded with anti depressants they smile haplessly-their lives stolen from them by corporation and successive governments. Looked upon by the rich as no more than deep pockets that have to be emptied at any cost. In Disney Land animated parlance these people are held upside down by a duck or a cow and shaken until every last penny is dislodged from the rolls of fat that keep these people slow moving and slow witted.

They are, as Chateaubriand said, no more than canon fodder-economic cannon fodder-regarded as expendable in the face of enemy fire. The enemy is the very government for which they proudly vote. They are at war with their own survival. Forced to deliberately fight against hopeless odds with the foreknowledge that they will suffer extremely high casualties.

These people are kept stupid, fat, fearful and in debt. Easy to control when (or if) they ever come to their senses. Feed them cheap food. Refuse to educate them properly. Tell them the terrorists are coming and hike their interest rates. Then, just when they think they have a Sunday moment to themselves hit them with religion: the easiest way to keep them in check. In shame. Shame, as the Catholics found out, is a wonderful tool to control those who will not bend to your will.

Even the middle class, with no more that 7 days of paid holiday per annum to look forward to, finally go insane and end up in rehab for 6 month having the time out they should have had incrementally as the years passed.

This lie of Eden, this garden of painted, plastic fruit and false promises. How delighted the bankers must be that they dodged the bullet, that no one is coming after them. They watch gleefully as the crumbs they leave behind are fought over by lawmakers for basic human rights like healthcare.

The banker is hugely paid to take risks with the money of those for which he has no regard. Why bother with healthcare? They don’t deserve anything! Those fat foolish fools. Go on..let them die young, die miserable deaths, send their sons to war. Force their daughters to suck on the cock of humanity. Take away any hope they might once have had and give them more pizza. Send them 5-foot sandwiches made of tasteless, mass-produced, processed ingredients. Pizzas the size of cartwheels. Over charge them for the pizza, charge them interest on their credit card used to buy the pizza and when it poisons them refuse to treat them and let them die.

Incidentally-it took me an age to understand why Americans thought we had lousy food in London until I realized that they didn’t mean the taste..they meant the size of the portion. The taste was meaningless. A hearty meal is a huge plate laden with food-any food will do.

I read today that there are more homeless teens on American streets than since the great depression. They are squatting foreclosed homes, they are selling their young bodies and they are numbing the pain with drugs. It could be Brazil or Romania but it isn’t it’s the country that genuinely believes that the rest of the world is jealous of it. Listen to Arni S, Governor of bankrupt California, brag about having the best fire fighters, the best hospitals, the best policemen etc. But, nobody is jealous of you. Not any more.

In London, whilst the economy roared, the government invested in roads and schools and hospitals so that now, during the down time, this prudence means that the people scarcely notice that times are tough. The British do not live in fear of illness because they have free healthcare and know that if they are unemployed we have collectively vowed to take care of them. The British are relieved that their children will and can go to any great university without being saddled with $500,000 of debt. They enjoy publicly funded art-of which the people are inordinately proud.

When I was last in London people briefly moaned that their house prices had gone down in value by 5%. I chuckled as my house in Malibu has devalued by 35%.

Meanwhile, the President of the United State-leader of the ‘free’ world and his First Lady are building a victory garden at the White House. Victory over what? Victory over the people who did not complain as the risk taking, MBA educated, Wall Street bankers who were rewarded for the greatest heist in US history? Hurrah! Victory! We got away with it! A double whammy. The hedge funders sing joyfully: We lined our pockets with war profits and then we just took what we needed when we became too big too fail. And, lol, we did it right under their big fat noses by threatening catastrophe on both occasions. First by the terrorists then a destroyed economy.

The bankers sing: Let them eat pizza, and 24-inch subway sandwiches and genetically modified, carcinogenic turkey legs dipped in mayonnaise and call it haute cuisine whilst you are at it.

They cry joyfully: I’m off to see Ivanka Trump get lavishly married in a dress styled after Grace Kelly’s in a marquee..a marquee that may be used in years to come to house some of the legions of placid, homeless obese standing in line to fetch water, food and anti depressants-unable to dream of better times-unable to dream at all.