Lies & lying
Went to Blue's post-op appointment with her yesterday & got a chance to ask the doc what happens to all the knee joints removed when replacement joints are installed. The answer wasn't amusing enough, so I'm going to stick to what we made up.
I'm beginning to see myself as, well, still a storyteller, yes. But more so as a liar who convinces my audience (or readers, should any of the diminishing number of publishing venues actually wish to risk publishing me) that I am always telling the truth. Even when I'm not. Onstage, as an artist, my goal is to become a perfect sociopath... that is, even I am not sure when I'm telling the truth & when I'm lying.
My genre, thanks for asking, is MINDFUCK.
I've got a couple of pack-o-lies pieces backed up in my head. This weekend I hope to have a chance to birth them. (Evacuate my creative bowels, I almost said. Ew?)
Part of what delights me about this is that in certain quarters, gossip dubs me as crazy. I'm considerably more boring than this gossip would suggest. However, when I fire up the word processor or get onstage, that all changes. Booga boogeta hinka dinka dinka NUTS!
P.S. As I was hustling my late ass toward the bus stop this morning at 6:20 a.m., a large, young, strong-looking fellow came out of his house & about jumped out of his skin. I startled him. I'm scary. FEAR ME, FOR MY SUPERPOWER IS MINDFUCK.
P.P.S. Maybe it was the hat.
P.P.P.S. What could be scarier than a literary sociopath hurrying in a fedora?
P.P.P.P.S. Nothing, that's what.
I'm beginning to see myself as, well, still a storyteller, yes. But more so as a liar who convinces my audience (or readers, should any of the diminishing number of publishing venues actually wish to risk publishing me) that I am always telling the truth. Even when I'm not. Onstage, as an artist, my goal is to become a perfect sociopath... that is, even I am not sure when I'm telling the truth & when I'm lying.
My genre, thanks for asking, is MINDFUCK.
I've got a couple of pack-o-lies pieces backed up in my head. This weekend I hope to have a chance to birth them. (Evacuate my creative bowels, I almost said. Ew?)
Part of what delights me about this is that in certain quarters, gossip dubs me as crazy. I'm considerably more boring than this gossip would suggest. However, when I fire up the word processor or get onstage, that all changes. Booga boogeta hinka dinka dinka NUTS!
P.S. As I was hustling my late ass toward the bus stop this morning at 6:20 a.m., a large, young, strong-looking fellow came out of his house & about jumped out of his skin. I startled him. I'm scary. FEAR ME, FOR MY SUPERPOWER IS MINDFUCK.
P.P.S. Maybe it was the hat.
P.P.P.S. What could be scarier than a literary sociopath hurrying in a fedora?
P.P.P.P.S. Nothing, that's what.