Category Archives: Moron Solopsism

But have I ever been feeling mute lately! This newish job I have requires much in terms of politesse with my fellow man when more often than not I’d like to close my eyes and think about that Mozart piece that Dallas listened to in the shuttle when he wanted to get away from the bickering crew members of the Nostromo. You know that one, right? Yes, that one. From smiling I have two new parenthetical wrinkles marking equidistant arcs at the corners of my mouth. By smiling I mean ‘the rictus of expression that occurs from polite listening and nodding when you’d rather be, eyes closed, thinking about that Mozart piece that Dallas listened to in the shuttle when he wanted to get away from the bickering crew members of the Nostromo’. It’s grim, my friends, grim, but so is this modern life. It can take the starch out of you, like a wash and wear and wash and wear and then a hurricane.

And now a brief tale from my past: Once, when I was still working on the floor at Jeffrey I would see Chan Marshall and her boyfriend shopping in the store. It was an exciting celebrity sighting for me because no one else there really listened to Cat Power (most of my co-workers favoring the sad music that pools in the waters of Disco, House and second-rate R&B) so it was sort of like a private moment of celebrity and fan. Except, of course, she was just in to buy shoes and the odd cosmetic and had no idea that I hearted the hell out of her or that I had a crush on her boyfriend.

Anyway, I hear that CM has since broken up with the beau and now lives in Miami and is something of a drunk. I still live in New York with my small grey cat and have given up on the redeeming qualities of substances. Life moves forward and often your head is so far turned back it may as well be up your ass, you know?

I once paid for a pack of cigarettes with subway tokens.

I wonder if tonight celebrities are nervous, sleepless; walking about their mansions closing windows and locking doors. If, perhaps, this season of death weighs heavy on their thoughts, the summer long and littered with bodies.

Today I watched a roast of William Shatner in which Farrah Fawcett appeared. It was before the cancer left her ravaged but you could catch the leading edge of something – her arms looked thin, a tinge of desperation as she botched her speech one time, then again, finally lowering her head in uncomfortable laughter. She was having trouble with an errant bra strap and seemed distracted. At one point she said, “I’m not on anything!” exasperated and you wanted to believe her.

When I got home I was looking on YouTube for clips from the roast, but I couldn’t find any. Instead I found a series of commercials Farrah starred in for her line of shampoo. They were soft-focused with horses in fields and dogs on beaches. Her hair was blond and big, her teeth white and somehow very California.

It must be wonderful and terrible to be famous. And to have your own shampoo.

This video, which YouTube has recommended for me, instructs the fashion layperson as to how one should wear harem pants. You know, because this is something we all should know.

Now, I have no real opinion about harem pants, except that they are for whores. Filthy whores, who lay about on pillows mopping jizz stains from their bodices and applying layer upon layer of frosted lipstick. I do, however, have an opinion about motel furniture and depressing bedspreads and, maybe, this little miss should be more attentive to her home and less eager to mention her 22″ waist.

WordPress just suggested I name my blog theincorporealchillnail.com. Could someone please tell me what a chillnail is and why I would want to be one?

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Now here is a room full of assholes who think their dicks are magic.

The boredom is like a wave, you have to let it wash over you. Struggle and you’ll drown. Acquiesce, and you float.

Whenever I root for someone to win, they lose.