I went to the “unemployment mic” first, according to the host, as we were all there at 3 pm on a Monday on the Upper West Side. For the moment, I’m not planning anything, I’m not writing yet, I’m just working on speaking to a room. Everyone is more or less workshoping the same material, so I’m sticking to the sex scandal for the moment, or my family. I’ve had good mics, people have laughed. I came from a strange world, nonetheless, where I end up in an ethereal universe: plant medicine group, psychics, geniuses, and gurus when most people are — most people, I don’t know — are saving up for their first house, getting married. So there’s a basic disconnect in the audience, what? Like someone told me, for real, I told the crowd, “that in the fifteen century I would have been the one to speak to animals…” He was not joking. I was called “a portal, channel, and antenna traveling on multiple planes of existence…” by another guy. What I was hearing amazed me. “Uh huh…” that sounds like Beyonce, Oprah, someone like this.
Hilariously, I got caught up in “you’re the one” talk, as if I were Neo from The Matrix, because I wanted to be a writer, try that out. I was Neo from The Matrix, everyone was, Joyce Carol Oates is Morpheus, Lady Gaga involved by default. She might have been Trinity. There’s an oracle involved, Dr. Dre, and I arrive at the understanding that I am the one ring to rule them all—a writer. I then got compared to Queen Elizabeth. Imagine? I’m Irish, so I don’t know what to do with that, but in a strange set of coincidences, a couple of people around the slytherin, asked me around the same moment, “is everyone telling you that you remind them of Queen Elizabeth?” I mean, no, what sense would that make? The slytherin knew these people, his shrink being one of them, as I even saw his shrink, and why? I do not know. She even compared me to Queen Elizabeth. It just so happened that they were connected to this slytherin, one of them even mentioned him, calling him my Winston Churchill, like “excuse me?” Like, out of everyone, imagine? I could make her think of? In terms of how complicated our lives were? It was Queen Elizabeth. My family was as complicated as the British royal family. I was basically a British royal, because I was wrapped up in a sex scandal by an Irishwoman. Think, Aretha Franklin, she sang it like she meant it, suggested it: you better think.
The second open mic I went to, it was a new venue for me, Grisley Pear, something like that. I tried to stick to the same idea. I had to sit there, surrounded by comedy albums, as many have been made, and let that go. I’d thought that my family story could do well in the comedy arena, even if it took me a second to figure out how to do it, so I’m thinking about how to approach this. This time, a guy who had laughed at me at previous mic, as there are regulars on the circuit, he knew what was coming, so — eek — the sex scandal bomb. Do I make a fart with my arm pit? After that? How do I continue? I mean? I was four, or mentally retarded. A four year old is basically retarded. I tried to communicate the utter foreigness of “snacks.” Snacks…?
I said that when my friends started having kids, I began hearing this word “snacks…” I was blinking at them getting all crazy about “snacks” and meal times at precise times… they kept saying this word...snacks, where are the snacks? The snacks? They had to feed their kids at specific times? What…? And then, “the snacks…” and I’m going, “what the FUCK are SNACKS???” Will someone EXPLAIN WHAT SNACKS ARE? Being in a sex scandal sucked ASS. Dr. J was not giving me “SNACKS” what kind of word is that, snacks? Is that English? Snacks? It sounds like a smear? What does that mean? I wasn’t getting SNACKS, I got no fucking snacks. I got weird shit from Dr. J, nothing but weird shit. I got strangely elaborate birthday parties. I’d bark at Dr. J to observe “the effect.” I would demand “I want a birthday party,” on any day of the week, literally. Dr. J would pop like a firecracker and launch into action—presents, cakes, clowns, balloons, the IRS pushing through the curly cues, DESPERATE to get to Dr. J. Dr. J was the ER, yes, George Clooney, of the tax world. Her office was it — she’s rushing to save a man’s life. But she didn’t spend any time with me otherwise, a super weird woman. I think for the most part, most people want a semi-normal set-up there. Sex scandals aren’t normal, but then, “very very likely Alice Munro was molested if only because it is so common,” according Margaret Atwood in to the NYTIMES, so it’s too common to rule out. Everyone’s probably been molested, that’s the point. So what is normal? People ask. Child molestation, I guess. “What is normal, you know?” As someone who came from a sex scandal, That’s not normal, you know? Being in sex scandals when you’re four, it shouldn’t be that way, that’s not how that’s supposed to go down. That’s one of those situation that calls for a firm “no.” Like, Obama would give a speech about it, if he sensed any confusion here. No, no, “the what is normal question” does not apply.
“No sex scandals…generally,” he would say as if he didn’t even know what to say about needing to say it, “especially one that involves a four year old, stop it.” He’s had to give speeches, about the college girl who got raped, because it happens too frequently, so the President is going to — address it. A four year old is a whole other level. Ridiculous. He would have embraced me, literally, he would have invited me to the White House, given me a goddamn medal. We would have toured the grounds. I would have gotten distracted, tugged at her skirt and his pants, demanded to go here and there. They would have given me free reign, I believe, to run off and play, run back. No four year old should be in a sex scandal. It’s just not right. Michele and Barack would have prepared a buffet of SNACKS for my visit, nothing but snacks, right? Skipping into the white house kitchen… snacks. Cheerios. Apple slices. The works. There’s only so much a four year old can eat, at that age.
Ideologically, even, my mother orchestrated a sex scandal around a four year old girl. I mean, to most people, it would be conceptually impossible. No way. In a movie, perhaps, sure, though as a fiction it would strike a dissonant chord. However, as a nonfiction it would be poignant. A story became a documentary. An 11-year-old girl was kidnapped by the Vatican, never found. So it’s conceptually possible, a sex scandal is most definitely conceptually possible. Four might be young, but so is eleven, and so is any person, forget the age. Regardless of your age, they shouldn’t be abducted by the Vatican for sexual use. That would call for the UN. Amal Clooney would have to intervene, personally. Could be true, not true…? My mother existed in this realm of thought, one that exists, one that’s on TV. She was The Society of Spectacle. And there was truth in it.
“Delusion,” she said.
The Zen Master Sybil said that I was delusional. She was a psychologist who was a Zen Master with the middle name Sybil. I told her my mother wasn’t my mother, and she said — what the fuck are you talking about? And she called my relationship to my mother delusional, that’s exactly who she is. She’s your mother. But — she wanted nothing to do with me though she makes Facebook accounts, truly, in her name, but with my personal details — incorrectly stated — concerning my education. New York University, wrong year, wrong details. Marymount College for girls, high school. Those are my schools. And I’ve hardly spoken to this woman, practically.
Delusion, however, is very real and true. Delusion exists in the real world. Racism, personally, to me, is a delusional reality. Racism is a delusional reality… it has no sense, you’re creating delusions, but it’s so real and true. It’s even normal.
I ended at St. Mark’s — there were more people there. I’m trying to force myself to go to mics with larger crowds now, forget being prepared, that’s what it’s all about. I want a room full of people if not a stadium coming to see me, no? The sooner I just take a breath and a plunge, the better. You’re never ready, and I’ve been trying to following my instincts, get to the crowd. Learn how to embrace it.
I’m always surprised when people laugh that I had like 15 moms, right? The goddamn sex scandal — you see? No one needs 15 Moms. It’s unneceessary. I had weird older men in my life, too, like why? I couldn’t even believe my life…honestly. It sucked ass coming from a sex scandal. “Do you need help?” No! That’s basically what these men were asking without asking, so I ended up in unnecessary relationships. Totally unnecessary, did not help. I keep trying to make images of the galaxy work, just wanting to hit the lights and the reverb, so I can say “sex scandal” against images of the universe. I came from outer space, I guess? Obama might reference foster care, like people come from all sorts of backgrounds.
Once I found the Truman door, you know the door in The Truman Show? I found it, luckily, except, what can I say? I was going to get to life in my late thirties. Just a bit of a painful road, with just some weird weird people in the end there.
I tried connecting with people over their families, that doesn’t seem to work. “Anyone have a crazy family?” “Do you hate your families?” Right? “You know those articles in magazine around the holidays? How to survive your family during the holidays? Well, my family should be the first picture you see. Remember the sex scandal. Now, appreciate one another. The problems you have…are not sexual in nature unless they are, and you may talk to me. Love your families for not being that fucked up, this was the kind of fucked up that makes people shut down, go “ohhhh,” was that “on the news?” Uh oh. A four year old in a sex scandal? It was a revelation most definitely… I was four at the time, a four year old is retarded, they can’t feed themselves, exactly, they need help coordinating… they say funny shit… they get weirdly angry, it’s a tadpole stage, if you would, not the time to introduce sex into the equaton. Too soon.
A four year old need whispers, loving whispers, because they’re cute, they tap their finger on coloring books, or they get super into some activity that they’re doing, and then, they’re going to tell you some story about it that veers into the fantasical and nod a lot, cutely, as you ask them questions because parents typically encourage them to keep talking partially because it’s funny. They might have little stories to share about a dragon who falls in love with a flower, “oh really? And then what happens?” They always know exactly what happens next. Or they get weirdly quiet and physical, even haughty, like they’re putting away this coloring book now. A four year old is a particular age. It’s a four year old.
I feel like I haven’t been able to quite make this real to my audience because most of them don’t have kids, I think, or I can’t quite reach parents… anyway, it’s retarded. It’s cute, but a four year old is retarded, basically. They need food, SNACKS, recreation. I mean, the stupidity of my parents— First, my father leaves me alone with an alcoholic drug addict who’s getting pulled over by the police almost nightly for drunk driving and looking for sex, specifically — for WEEKS at a time…it’s a level of stupidity that your fucked up families would… not be able to compute. I’m sorry?? When I look at your crazy moms, since everyone’s mother is crazy, apparently, I’m going, my mother is looking for sex downtown, and uh, we need to pick her up almost nightly from the police… to me, that’s crazy, it’s crazy that she goes, hmmm? I know, I’m going to put my four year old in a sex scandal… I’m going to tell a super hot Brazilian mother of six Jewish children — that her husband is raping their four year old, and can you protect her…?
You’d think that would be an automatic goodbye, like, hit the locks on the car, make sure the baby is buckled in, and get the fuck out. You’d think that a woman wouldn’t need time to leave someone for raping a four year old! Imagine, imagine! Angelica Leibowitz said.
I tried that today…
“Any Jews in the house? Where are my Jews? Jews?” There are always Jews. “Imagine? Imagine if your mother was Brazilian?” I was laughing, I really was. Like you’re going to Hebrew school, going through the bar and bat? With a Brazilian mother. Not a Jewish mother. A Brazilian mother. She’s snapping at you, waving her hands, with legs shaped by the Gods, in Portugese. Imagine that your name was José Leibowitz? Or Louisa. Imagine? As a Jew? From LA? Imagine? You had to ability to become latin on the dance floor, as we were dancing constantly. You see? We’re dancing SEXY regardless, but you’re Jewish. Right? You’re listening to Brazilian music, you see, reciting Jewish prayers earlier. It didn’t matter, you see, we’re remembering sorrows, and we’re dancing, and we’re not dancing just any dance, this is the lambada. It was born out of oppression, actually, and it’s the sexiest dance on earth, so it was life. Life force, sex became something much more profound, it brought this family into existence in a living room, all these guests learning how to be in their bodies, get into the hips, kick that foot back, and these Jews — these kids — are swirling their feet around, getting all latin, without any need to transition, from Jew to Brazilian. It was — a miracle. I’m sorry, it was. And I was the, uh, seriously white one among them, protected by them, because my mother accused my father of being a child rapist, forget molester. That was the light… end.
And so I am a comedian now.
Trying to be.
What a journey it’s been.
Why I had to become psychic, I don’t know…
I became fucking psychic. You know? Some asshole told me that I was even too psychic to manifest. MANIFEST—this word, this goddamn word. These people came from me, Vishen! I saw the dark side of manifestation. I really did.
Why I had to get totally mixed up with some terrible guru, really, just because, I didn’t need help, man. I didn’t need to KNOW what he KNEW, I was just a chick in a cafe, who happened to come from a story that caused me more problems that GOD because people like YOU couldn’t control themselves or some shit — over that story, getting all up in my BIZ, treating me bizarrely, disrespecting me, thinking I need help, or something? WHY? Do I look like I need help? Go check yourself. Remember Taylor Vaughn? She’s All That? Remember when she wins prom queen? And she gets up to that mic? And she’s about to tell everyone off, who didn’t vote for her? They have to unplug the mic… me? In all honesty, do not be ridiculous. I’m plugging Taylor Vaughn back in. “What were your even thinking?” This is the prom queen…. obviously! It’s the same idea, I desire to get up on a serious mic and tell these weirdos off. Oh the patterns, or the dynamics we can’t seem to get out of, that we don’t understand, why does this keep happening? In my case? Forget my parents. Telling anyone about the sex scandal was a no go zone, don’t do it. I could write philosophy even, because — the way people could respond… it was another level. I was, could be, ethereal about it, or quite simply, I didn’t always make sense. Hello? I was in a SEX SCANDAL. Sense took time. People got SO CONCERNED SO INTERESTED…so strangely knowledgable? When the story existed in an unreal realm, people could enter, as if they knew where they were though they had no idea where they were, but they were there… sort of. Once that story became real, they disappeared entirely. As long as it was a vague lie about my father, they had nothing but questions about it, but the second it became real, they had no questions. Sex scandals suck, they really do.
The other day, I said that I’m practically prepared for Hollywood. I might be embraced as some Catholic saved by Jews, a team of pro athlete Jews, on top of it. They were all sports stars, these dancing Jews, with a hot Brazilian mother who could — rip your ass to shreds — boom, she had enough sass to birth athletes… and then, there’s a mother from New Canaan CT, and THEN, there’s a Mexican mother, and THEN, there’s a Russiasn. I was in a sex scandal when I was four, and all this happened because of it. I’m practically made for Hollywood, at this point, it’s like I’m their spirit animal, everyone has been in a goddamn sex scandal in Hollywood. It’s basically a prerequisite. They’ll roll out of the carpet — for me, to Prince Ali. No? I was four. So in my Mary Janes, I’m coming, big curly hair, bow, “I was four.” I won, basically, I won the, uh, “best sex scandal award,” the most poignant, the mic drop. So, shrugging, “no raping people, or harrassing them no matter who you are or where they come from…”
Oo I just thought, even though it’s boring, I’m just trying to work my family story, it’s just, how many times do I have to say it?
“I was in a sex scandal…” in 1400 different ways. I tried to verbally cue the projector wth the cosmos swirling around my darkened figure. “I was in a sex scandal…” and we take off into the universe… that didn’t work… I would have to really do it, I think, hit the lights, the galaxy begins to swirl, and the mic has a reverb: I was in a sex scandal…when I was four… “the universe is vast…” this is the point, the universe is a vast place, we’re a speck, get with it, NASA is, played by Matt Damon. He knows what NASA is doing, he looks at their interactive maps of the comets that are flying around us, all the time. He’s reading the content, he’s on their website, Damon is a fan of NASA. I feel it in my bones. “Matt Damon,” I would have to say in an Italian accent. “Matt Damon.” So whenever I think about NASA, I see Matt Damon, throwing his arms in the air, fists, when NASA re-established communication with Voyager 1, you know, the space vessel in interstellar like a billion miles away? They fixed a technical problem from a billion miles away… this Voyager 1 started acting all weird and shit, sending garble? They sent a signal, DAMON did, a billion miles away, they got into the operating system of Voyager 1, they reprogrammed it, and boom, finally, months later, NASA is applauding, and Matt Damon is saying YES.
It’s like, the people who are obsessed with the existence of aliens, trying to sell me this story. Why do these people want to talk to me? I do no know. But the aliens…uh huh? Exist… I shrug, okay, no issues. And they all say the same thing: you think I’m crazy, I know. And no, you see, I do not think you’re CRAZY. It drives me CRAZY, these alien believers, THEY drive me crazy, because it’s not crazy. Everyone is looking for the goddamn aliens. DAMON, I say, DAMON… as in NASA is looking for the aliens. In Voyager 1, Matt Damon even prepared a welcome package for aliens, a Common album included, you know, just some facts and cultural artifacts to introduce them to the idea of earth — couple CSI re-runs, to reference Dave Chappelle. In 150 languages. All languages. So NASA wants to meet the aliens, Damon is RUNNING like a nerd to get to the Independence Day spaceship, they’re running to see the aliens. They most definitely want to establish contact. So no, there’s nothing crazy about believing in aliens, not when you’re spending millions of dollars to have a “welcome to earth package, or this is where this space vehicle comes from,” on board of your interstellar traveler just in case. So, I don’t get the conspiracy theories, or the talk that believing in aliens is crazy, when NASA believes. They believe in the aliens. They’re onboard. They’re factoring it into their plans. But the alien believers, the laymen, not NASA, want to spin tales about being crazy to me, about having this question, as if NASA didn’t have it.
It sucks looking at myself and going, really? You got caught up in the wrong crowd? I did. I really did. And I paid the price for it. I really did. Now I don’t know what to do exactly except move on, but I’m really moving on. From my family, too. I’m starting over. So I got whipped up in some Hollywood screenwriter’s fantasy play, a little bit. Like, he heard a line of my childhood and suddenly I have a man pointing at me across a room and shaking his finger at me? “WHAT DO YOU WANNA KNOOOOWWWWW…” What happened to “I wanna know…I wanna know what turns you on…” lol remember that song? “So I can be all that and moooreee…I wanna know…” take RESPONSIBILITY for yourself. This man, when I think back on his audacity, his inappropriateness, it’s astounding to me, why did I fall for it? Because I came from a sex scandal, I could be disrespected because of it in —
Weird ways.
I tried that this evening.
“I can’t tell nobody about the sex scandal. No one. No man either.”
You’d think that a guy would be like, hmmmm? Maybe not. I might skip a girl who came out of a sex scandal, lol, but no, it’s the opposite, they come closer because they get AFFECTED. You understand? They’re falling in love with me — prematurely, even. They’re seeing me as a woman they can take care of, I push THAT button. And it’s like, dinner and movie asshole? Do I have to get crass to cut through the sentiment? So much goddamn sentiment. No sex scandals. Maybe in a few years. And will you ask me, why I didn’t tell you, because it obviously didn’t matter. My parents were IDIOTS. Now, you’re going to ask me, “was it true? About your father?” Well, this bitch didn’t even know how my mother handled me, hold on. We’re moving at lightning speed through the universe. Hang on. We need to battle a space monster or two, spinning around in a spaceship. In Hollywood, I would need to say no more, “was it true?” Eh, the Jews are there too, “sometimes.”
I did three open mics. It’s a process for sure. I feel like I reached a kind of plateau, but I have to keep going, figure out what my five minutes are, and try to move forward… but I’m still in this phase, it’s only been two months and a couple of weeks, so there’s nothing else for me to do but keep figuring out how to deliver it, how to break that ice, because sex scandal, I dropped a bomb, even, which didn’t get a laugh, I don’t think, so maybe it’s about warming up to it, getting to it, because I feel that the themes in this comedy routine would resonate, even the psychedelics, “it did not go well.” Not for me. Not for girls in sex scandals. Nobody got that, the shamans I worked with, they did not see it, though I said it. Men treated me casually, typically, surprised? Not the guys I dated, necessarily, but men could treat me casually, and who did — that was revelatory. Rich kids. I was shocked, too, looking back on it, like, I suppose I was attractive to some people, but my problems were basic, like, you gotta watch out a little? Because you’re a woman, I’m getting past the comedy circuit, but I had no idea what I was attracted to, and now, I’m excited to meet someone, now, I got rid of the vintage look, the short hair, I canned it.
No cute stuff. I’m older now. That was a terrible turn, my thirties, but I keep on moving on, comedy being so instrumental in moving on, being able to stand in front of so so many people, not like I’ve bombed in front of that many, but I’ve gone to enough open mics where people know me, “the sex scandal…” that no one knows anything about, but given the nature of standup, it’s hard to get to, as I’m trying to figure out step one. Perhaps it would be easier to find a different opener… or a different style of delivery. Or, I exist in my own brand of comedy, not sure, too soon to say. I have every right to be there, and some of what I’m saying, I’m thinking, it could be funny, it’s not always easy to feel through the crowd that’s trying to be supportive, and a crowd that’s distracted, or a crowd that’s trying to be real. For me, it’s all about that connection you’re trying to establish with the audience. “How are we doing? Have you ever been in a sex scandal? How about when you were four? What are the sex scandals we’ve heard of as of late? Jared Leto? Four women?” Toss in the fake Clooney housing sale, for shits. A woman who opened her mouth unnecessarily. Right? Dr. J, listen ladies, listen, my mother? She’s going after YOUR MAN, Angelica Leibowitz said. “MARIA she threw herself on everybody…” right? Wouldn’t Hollywood appreciate hearing it? “No worries gang, no worries, your sex scandals are quelled, I have taken a leap of faith and come forward as a Mermaid to just nip it in the butt, so. Your sex scandals… they don’t involve children, mostly. And no one knows what to do with Michael Jackson, still. It’s like making documentaries, people confessing, it’s less that I don’t believe it, but some people have a hard time with it, given who she is, and no one believed me, period. So that’s not the issue. But, it’s like, when people tell me what they know about celebrities…
I’m always confused. How? How do you know? It’s the same problem with the sex scandal. People talking to me like they know what a sex scandal is… how do you know so much about celebrities? I can’t even read the newspaper! I have no time. My friend once told me what he knew about Tom Cruise, and I was like, why? And he said that a trusted source, someone close to him, told him… that was gay, everyone knows this rumor, apparently. Okay? I’m shrugging like I don’t understand why you’re talking to me… my parents lied pretty badly there, you’re talking to someone who was in a sex scandal, so I know the people “closest” to you would lie about you… the worst. So someone “close to him,” that signals a fucking rat. I’m blowing the whistle on THIS guy, you see? It doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, where you ended up — I’m a crime fighter against this shit. “This rat,” who the fuck is the “snitch?” True, not true, I’m not built like you, you see, I don’t give a shit.
I did just catch Natalie Portman though as the face of Dior, new woman, twirling around. She’s really slapping her cheating husband in the face, and I’m on her side. What an idiot. A total idiot, that man. Cheating on Natalie Portman. This would be where the whoopee cushion would be appropriate. Fart. What was that? But again, my first memory involved my mother cheating on my father — again. You know? That was, Dr. J was cheating on her husband like daily or some shit, my father yelling at me about how she slept with her clients upstairs, as in more than one, and he was aware, imagine? I thought, I’m not the type of person who shuts down, in these instances, though I’ve been manipulated, I have to say something awkward again, looking at these headshots, imagining what Spielberg would say to all this…
Jesus, dude, is that what I look like? A girl who was in a sex scandal once upon a time? I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first thought, but it’s funny, considering I was. I can’t tell if I’m good looking, but that’s what I’ve been told, I don’t know if I was Monica Bellucci, as this is my joke, question, me showing up with Monica Bellucci places… and not saying anything. Is this…who I am? Be real. I will hit you — I’m taking Monica Bellucci to the brasserie, shaking my head at her, and asking her what her opinion is about most things. She might be psychic, no? This is my feeling. I heard she’s felt totally disrespected because of her looks, like she got disrespected, and I’m — angry about it. I don’t know what to say on my end, but it might have factored into the equation. I had a look, I think, an attractive, very attractive girl, I think, but my personality and style didn’t seem to help me all that much. Like, trying to be a nice person, no offense to “the public” that shits on you, Bellucci knows. Trying to be a nice person — no. Don’t be. I’m on guard. But I’m also almost 40, so I feel a little angry sometimes that I wasted my time, I really did, with these people.
Who gives a shit?
Taiwan warns celebrities, huh? Leonardo di Caprio says, “to be wary of supporting Beijing’s military parade…” who the fuck even knows it’s going on? Charlize? Look, I believe the tariffs are misundertood, I don’t think we’re actually understanding China’s point of view here. I read that the mainline to the internet is off the coast of Taiwan, and so I believe China is fucking sick of the internet, they fucking hate the internet, so they’re making another turn in their speedboats because they want to fucking end the internet, and I’m on their side. I enjoy cruising on this line, I do, that they want to end the internet. They do not want to be in tariffs over a CHIP the size of a stupid pin, okay? AI ooooo AI ooooo conspiracy boy shit. CHINA IS PISSED, wanting to END the internet, and I hate the goddamn internet. So do they. Just please, this is CHINA. They’ve been around so fucking long, the internet — they don’t give a shit about the internet. They want to gaze upon ROSES, idiots.
Anyway, wish me luck with all this material. I don’t know what to say about my look, too, as I’m laying low, for the moment, so I might pump up some glam, make myself hotter, and wonder, am I hot? I might not be anymore. I have no idea. 39 is — some cliff, where you enter into a different world as a woman, it’s not like I feel unattractive, or that I can’t meet anyone, but you’re not YOUNG, you know? I can look young, I’m going to have to redo these headshots, and at LEAST I didn’t pay for them, though I did as they came with this workshop. He’s good, I think, this photographer, I just had no idea, as I never approached this world with my brain… like what am I doing? Trying to give off? Might as well be specific. So I knew I was on a treadmill, not to suggest I’m running in place, but just the speed, it’s a little fast, but I’m trying to propel myself forward, regardless.
The larger crowd made me lose my cool a bit, so I’ll go to larger crowds now, but I might spend some time in a room, as I would like to now, so I can rehearse, and try to get to 5 minutes. I gotta just get to an industry night, because I hope, at least, that someone is going to go, “oh,” that person is talking about relevant shit, like psychics, manifestation, she was eaten alive by the psychic manifestors, she is an X-MEN because she came from a sex scandal, and cue the stupid haunting music as I remember my childhood, some dark flash, sitting there as an X-MEN, that Magneto might locate first… “a time traveler…” as I felt time bend, but I should probably wear a sexy dress, lol. I’m stupid, even. But people literally told me that I was an X-MEN, capable of — traveling on multiple planes of existence as a whole new triple threat— step aside — portal, channel, and antenna — I am the door, to new dimensions, of some kind, I can channel what I need to Charlize, and I can pick up on anything that’s happening, as an antenna. CSI reruns… and begin reciting them, as I can channel, and in the 15th century, someone else said, I would have been the one to speak to animals. Look, I believe that if SOME women were told that, they would be offended and slap a man in the face. SLAP. So — now look at the headshot.
Sure, give me a hood, basket, and I COULD play someone who speaks to animals, sure, I suppose, that’s a bit of a weird choice there. But starring Dave Chappelle, also, Witch-hunt, that’s the name of the movie, “I saw it coming.” But I wasn’t the only one. You see. Now we gotta decide if we’re going back…? Going to help people? Hmmm, Chappelle doesn’t think so. Not a good idea. I have a good laugh, inserting a Black man in scenarios, like I was watching Nashville, Robert Altman, and a Black man would have noticed the assassin right away, no problem. “Weird guy.” And he would even say, “I think we better tell someone…” he’s not going, “it’s probably nothing…” isn’t that so true? Inserting different people in some of these scenarios. I mean, not to say I didn’t meet people of color in psychedelics, by the way, but the manifestation/psychic routine I received didn’t feel that appropriate or astute. But if you must know, a shaman believes I am a shaman, okay? I could be a shaman…
Like if you go through crazy shit, if you saw some crazy shit, I’m coming over and we’re getting through it, I’m going to care for you, and that’s it. I’m fucking leaving, looking at the celebrity, signing NDAs — before you even have to ask me. It’s done, I hate people. DO NOT COME UP TO ME AND ASK QUESTIONS. You will be eliminated by lasers shooting out of my palm, I was in a sex scandal AKA gifted on the psychic plane. Okay? Because of it. This is what the shaman told me. So, the fates of Man, of course, the fate of Man… with boobs. You know? I needed to change my look completely. Like fuck off. Major fuck you. I’m on Bellucci’s side, the more the neckline plunges, okay? Once upon a time, the better. Fuck off. Truly. I do not have time. I’m getting to Julianne Moore’s facialist, mark my words. I’m getting to Julianne Moore’s facialist, mark my words. And these gurus, I’m telling you, I just hope that I can turn all of it into gold, something that works, something that might entertain people, because I don’t know what the fuck else to do…
My man Jose, back there, holding it down in the back as… we go up the ride…at Disneyland… with the massive drop coming… yup, “I was in a sex scandal,” ahhhhhhhhhh, drop. Over the hill. Those who know me know now, “here we go…” We crashed, we’re bouncing there in a log, we made it, we got our picture taken in states of thrill and terror. I thought I was too late, actually, there’s so many fucking sex scandals, but I realize I might be early, which is good, actually, AKA on time. It’s going to take a second. I should be receiving applause, right? She did it. I made it — here, basically speaking. “I was in a sex scandal…YEAH,” I gotta be proud, stand in it radiating hotness, radiating femininity, radiating poise and grace. “My mother was on the look out for sex, downtown, in a moving vehicle, while drunk, when I was four…” right? Good…times. And this bitch has a problem with me? Imagine?
A four year old.
No way, I was four, nothing I could do, literally, nothing. But now, I gotta tell you, if someone started acting like that — that would be an emergency code red. That’s call the psych people, though no one wants to do that, rehab, something. That was very crazy, ill, “mentally ill” sure, sure. It was nuts. Totally nuts. I’ve had to step back from people I know, not understanding that what they’re saying is off. Like, my friend didn’t understand, when she gave someone a PR introduction to me, that calling my mother “A little crazy” wasn’t the problem. “I would never call someone mentally ill crazy…” okay, look, wrapping your child up in sex scandals, that’s crazy. Ill, sure, but that’s crazy. “Her family was totally insane.” I mean, that’s the response, that’s the introduction, if that’s necessary… you know? I was watching going, what the fuck is this? But because I’m posting videos of comedy sets on instagram, that means I am trying to tell some chick in real life I don’t even know. Okay? At the Carlyle Hotel, they heard, they know, already, somehow. They know I came from a sex scandal… they know who Dr. J is, they are already in the future where I am a valued and cherished member of their community. Enough. “A little crazy,” even the server, he came around, brought me some more nuts. Are you joking?
It will iron itself out, but I definitely ran into strange roadblocks, tiny, but stuff that pops up because I’m moving into the public domain. And why it’s a problem? Or why it’s triggered a little interference, I don’t know. But it will work itself out. I was in a sex scandal, so, that’s the quickest way to describe it. Not “she gave me away to someone,” that’s not what happened. She wrapped up a mother in a sex scandal, meaning, here’s cash, protect my child because my husband is a child molester…but I’ll come over without a top on, even. So get ready—a sex scandal. WHY geniuses, so called geniuses and mental health experts, missed that one, I don’t know.
I sent Dr. J, on FB, the video of Christian Bale talking about his housing project for foster care kids — not my story — he wondered, “why don’t we take care of our children,” dope. I sent it to Dr. J. “Thought you’d appreciate this.” “Why don’t we take care of our children?” Good question. That shit wasn’t on me, Dr. J, that shit was on you.
Absurd.
I didn’t want to spend so much time here, on this one, but I don’t know what else to do, right now, because the second I made a turn in my thirties, as I lived in France in my twenties, I got weird shit. I got weird shit real quick, looking at my ex, like, seriously? Why am I here? That was the last thing I needed. I did not need to get involved with drugs. So, there you go, even if they were “medicines” don’t play that, not with me. Again, I wasn’t doing it daily, I’m not addicted, but I got into a world… a plant medicine community… and that did it go well. NOW, I’m like, OHHHHHHHHHHHHH I see. On guard. No, no, no. That did not help me at all, the psychic stuff, that was a little nuts, no offense. But I was…vulnerable in a particular way, and no one would give a shit, bring in Charlize, even, no one would speak to Charlize or treat Charlize like that. Don’t bullshit me. I’m more on that end of things — go look at yourself.
So I went through a dark period. None of this was revelatory, not until the end. With the Hollywood guru over there, you know, just like, I’m a person. You don’t go barging into someone’s private life. Just ridiculous, why am I speaking to you about my mother date two? I was thirty, idiot. Gross, this relationship was so gross, this guy disrespected me, at hello, practically. Now I’m in lingerie, sitting there, staring at this guy, uh huh???????? YES? YOUR OPINION matters because??? You made movies??? What makes you an expert on life? Imagine? Now I’m getting into a relationship with someone who wants to help me MANIFEST, literally, as if this were my problem. “You better think,” Aretha Franklin. And I intend to swing, if you would, make it into a routine, truly. I hope it will get me far.
The ENTIRE decade was a giant no.
I was not a fairytale character.
And all I can do is love myself, you know? I wasn’t able to make these connections, i had to go against the grain in my case, like, WHY are you here, to begin with? Why are you opening your mouth at all? You know what I mean? If I start talking about my childhood, weird shit’s coming. “Oh what are you writing about?” HM? Nothing, nothing much, just a family Christmas comedy. Sure sure, what about you? Tell me about you? It’s not my job to open up for the world. It’s not my job to get involved with someone who does a lot of drugs, who also has problems? Like uh, I do not know why I was there. You wanna get TEA? I’m not doing this. This wasn’t what I thought it was. Not my scene. I’m not even judgmental, but WHY? Why am I here?
With some unreal guru… speaking about arrows or some shit, like did that concern me? Something about it being hard for a man? His feelings? Do you speak English? I say that because he confessed his love to me, in the MOST obtuse fashion, role playing my father? Some version of my father that he felt RELATED TO WHAT? What exactly was IMPEDING MY PATH to become a writer? Over a lost I-TANYA DVD, he’s confessing his love to me, when I’m simply trying to say sorry, okay? Over a lost I TANYA DVD. Why am I being psychoanalyzed by someone who has never ever “worked” in that capacity with someone? Being told, I’m being FED by this person? “I’m always feeding you,” when — dickface, I’m a thirty year old woman, maybe even older by that point, don’t we have a LUNCH DATE asshole? Imagine??? I can’t see this shit. Literally. I can’t SEE what the fuck is happening.
Always feeding you. Just obscene. Bring me Charlize. Put Charlize in this. “What?”
Can you believe how belittled I was by this man? While being told I’m the chosen one, for reasons I don’t understand. That guy has some twisted logic in there, very twisted logic. So that was me, looking for a normal guy, for the love of Christ. What a strange time that was, if someone actually cared about me? Which no one did. I know the difference, thanks. My case, no? Would have been treated with more respect. Ridiculous. Then this shaman mildly expresses his interest towards me, like, are you joking? I’m not your girlfriend. He had broken up with her. I don’t know. But that was… not exactly the best set-up? So I can sort of back away, and go, I just had no idea what I was doing… I would not conduct myself in the same fashion. Why would I need a free apartment? I can get my own apartment. You see what I mean?
I tried, too, I tried to take all of this as an opportunity, but none of it made sense. I didn’t have a, in my opinion, the right psychologist, who could go, okay, who gives a shit about writing about psychedelics, get yourself a job, save money, so you can move into a nicer place? Is that the plan? No, the plan was to “write” and why? What’s the point? Write on your free time. Obviously, I didn’t make SENSE? Around that story? No? Maybe not the time to jump in. But people were really affected by the story, and what’s annoying? The public isn’t that taken by it? Maybe they will be, in a sense, but they’re not turning me into some precious thing who needs help? I was confused, because in France, I just didn’t even deal with it. Looking at France, you are on my radar, we will discuss these ridiculous sex scandals. “Mon dieu…”
My God.
Then I had to be fucking psychic, insane. I keep looking at my picture. So I hope I come into the world with flower petals thrown at me… thank you. Monica Bellucci even dressed me, lol. She did. So I’m off for today, looking for a basic set up, that’s going to work, bring me prosperity. A nice man. A normal man, who wants to speak, perhaps, who might want to be friends, sure, who might want to date me and that’s not an issue. No more issues. No more… psychic stuff. No more trauma stuff. No more. In my private life, what? Who? Who’s Dr. J? Who’s hurt? HM? Do you have an easy time opening up? Are you sharing these details? No, not at all. I came from, uh, Greenwich, sure, CT, yup, um, banker… um, philantrophist. Hamptons? Of course. Many summers. Just a lovely time. Just like, uh, Eddie Redmayne, he knew Queen Elizabeth, even. He knows who I am. I am Queen Elizabeth to the plant people and co. Someone who’s going to get the unexpected call — you’re up. Time to run an empire with Pamela Anderson—okay! Yup, sure. She seems lovely, truly.
What that is, I do not know. What the empire is. But saying that the slytherin is Winston Churchill? What? But, you know, I’m ready, ready to build an empire, I just don’t know what that means, why there was a concentration of talk like that around me last decade, a decade that brought me to a real end, you see, like, I know talented people. I know people on Broadway. They did not have to deal with that shit. I assure you. I know a Jew too, and he might actually laugh, picturing his mother being Brazilian. “Imagine?” They did not have to deal with weird shit, and they know very beautiful people, too, very talented beautiful people who have hilarious insecurities… even. BUT ME? I came from a goddamn sex scandal, and maybe only OBAMA is going to GET IT—what happened here. Psychic.
Look at my headshot. I’m a light being, sure. Sure sure. We’re all lights on a grid called consciousness. I have boobs. I can’t help the anatomy. So I’ll be heading into a rehearsal room soon, to actually work on stuff, as I have to work these characters… work the accent, the Brazilian accent, and conceive of a show of some kind. It’s psychology 101, sort of, it’s like, I’m going to become psychic — in the end. And my goal, is that we all leave here today with an understanding of what the WORLD is, conceptually. Meaning, YOU have one, meaning, I came from outer space, so in the END, I’m going to receive: “you’re from another dimension aren’t you?” It wasn’t even a question, imagine? Now, I’m in AVIATORS — ready to RIP through the school administration at the HEAD OF THE PTA, “now who’s this?” This dick. “You’re from another dimension…aren’t you…” like we both knew. “Nah I’m cool, do you believe in OTHER DIMENSIONS for real?” I was in a sex scandal, not exactly another dimension, but I suppose Dr. J looked and acted like she was from space, absolutely, so I might have picked up on some of her traits. We’re heading… in that direction, unfortunately. But MARIA — the real one — is JUMPING over obstacles, she’s rolling onto her feet, pointing the gun, with the ghost of Barbara Harris — trying to get out of a fucking alien-world. WHERE’S THE TRUMAN SHOW DOOR? WHERE? It was a psychedelic journey, it was, becoming real. And I needed the help of an actress to do it, lol, the ghost of one, it passes.
So there’s that question, hilariously, as the ghost of Barbara Harris is haunting/helping me. That’s believable. I suppose I resonated on some real/unreal line. So there you go. Like who gives a shit about boobs? Big deal. It’s just boobs. You know? I can’t quite get these men, just because, they spoke about me as if I were SO TALENTED, but at what? I was taken by the thief, sure, he crossed all of Europe on foot, he was a storybook character, so that’s what I was to them? Someone who crossed all of Europe on foot, who fooled every border patrol, apparently, who stole from the rich, gave to the poor, and confronted the most dangerous gang in all of Paris France — and told them to fucking STOP. Was I that person? You know? I had gifts, it seems, but I was gifted… in what capacity? I’m singing Blossom Dearie, losing my ability to walk — straight — in a straight line — as Dr. J. “Till all your…” and she’s about to knock into the manmade bar, “sweet…” there might be something there. Dr. J to Blossom Dearie “dance dance only with me…” I’ll have to see. Her getting suggestive with every man, every man… a sort of predator, Dr. J, for sure, as some kind of prey, or something, because she was addicted to victimhood, in that, she spoke of being raped, having diseases, you know? So that was a severe person.
I don’t know what to say about the alcohol, drugs, but unless she was already addicted when she met my father, she was beaten at two? That’s all he knew about her. That she was beaten at two and sent away for ten years because of it. So she’s living in this universe. And so, that’s where I came from… the question, is it true? I mean, what the fuck do you even care? You know? Like, I got upset, on the one hand, because she was possibly spilling out about terrible acts, and children get abused, for the love of God, and where the hell did she come from? I don’t know if it was something to act precious about, do you know what I mean? That was outrageous. But I guess, yeah, not everyone is REAL. Really real. I suppose the problem is real and true, is anything real anymore? “Do we feel connected?” I tried that too. “Are we connecting…with one another?” Um, whoopee cushion? I gotta get one.
I appreciate the ability to just be there and do something and fail. Like someone, yesterday, a young man, even played a questionable line, like he was a weirdo getting up to a mic, a character idea, and he’s sort of retarded, even, in that, he’s asking us for jokes he can repeat… that’s the idea. And that seemed to go over sort of well, in that, he could possibly push that even more, getting into a seat, next to someone, or something. But, I’ll get to that, getting on stage in a tennis skirt, or getting on stage as characters… I’m not there yet, I’m just dealing with the first sentence, still. Sure sure, Maria, Italian, um, nothing to say about TRUMP other than you gotta know who Dr. J is, I gotta get there, because it will speak for itself. Anyway, I’ll probably look into ways of developing a show in a theater, something, I just don’t know what that means yet. I have never gotten any feeling that I have no right to be there, like I can’t be a comedian about all this, come on. So I’m fine on that end, but the beginning is usually a bit of a battle, no? Because you have to keep face planting, you have to keep trying and figuring out what works…