Life is a structural exercise. Heed my words. Life is a structural exercise. I’m speaking about life psychologically, yes, but if you cannot build, if you don’t understand life basically, hunny, you’re going to run into problems down the line. I speak these words for someone like me — who met nothing but enablers. Hannah Arendt, in reading about my life, might have taken pause at how one’s world — I don’t know what to say about Rahel Varnhagen — might be designed, like “Maria,” me, can’t seem to break out of a world. She’s going to keep meeting people who are going to enable her, she’s going to attract and pursue relationships that aren’t good for her, they are going to keep her within an operation that’s going to lead to her demise. Regardless of what happened with my parents, regardless of the ingredients that brought about her break down, looking at these idiot men. Regardless if it was an awakening, um, therapeutic event, or belonging related, that would have sounded a little weird to Arendt, I think, or in other words, “millionnare shaman,” as I looked him up, “drugs.” Meaning, Maria’s physician, as she’s acting REAL, which is positive, doesn’t know if she might have something going on physically or, whether she had an adverse reaction to psychedelics. “Yes, sensations.” Maria — I’m speaking in third person — but Hannah Arendt, in my mind, helped me better than anybody. Life is a structural exercise. In a sense, I reconnected with that child who was obsessed with psychology. It’s just, by the time I got to college, I began to disappear because it’s the moment when we all APPEAR. I came from a particular background, my parents were ill, and I think, with my mother in particular, and you should really think about that if you’re having children — this is responsibility talk right here —because my mother’s mental illness, her FAMILY illness, was a challenge. It really was. She was a buffoon, and in theater talk, I might be called a genius. “Picture perfect grotesque.” Oh my God, that’s it, that’s truly it— it’s so topical. So I’ll be working on it. I am going to try some PERFORMANCE too, I want to put her in HIGH ART containers, see what I can do, but in the end, it can’t be me, I don’t think, because JOY has BLUE eyes, she has a LOOK that I don’t have. But I can start. Get blue contacts. Work on the body of her.

I was humbled by my experience, I was. I could never become her, that didn’t seem possible, but when I was young, the coping mechanisms I had seemed to fall in line with her, her family, I can’t tell what that was, as there are questions that remain about what happened back there. I don’t know — was my mother abused? She said it enough, she was so unhinged sexually, I do not KNOW. Sometimes, when it comes to sexual dysfunction, I wonder if there’s a medical explanation. I do not know. I came from a BACKGROUND, regardless, and I feel at times I have to YELL because people in my life, so IN ME, too, somehow, they made connections that might not be hinged right, meaning, I don’t know. I had to shut the door on some people in my life, so I could hear myself think. There was sexual trauma in my story, regardless. I went through an experience that I’m unpacking. I didn’t claim anything as fact. I got rid of the people I needed to.

Life is a structural exercise. I got the picture, and looking back, I was disturbed. I’m here now, and looking back I was disturbed, because I didn’t seem to register as real to this professor I got close to — the Romantic. I inherited some money from my father, not a lot, okay? That wasn’t a lot of money. I had one bitter friend who I didn’t need in my life, actually. That was the type of money you don’t touch. You figure out how to make it grow. Life is a structural exercise. And I was against marriage, on top of it, I had angsts about money, status, success, worldly ambitions in my mind — and I followed the manifestaters “creed,” I call it —everything was going to work out. Sure, PLAYTIME is different from REAL TIME no? As I seemed to exist on some line between the two. I don’t mind playing around, but in REALITY, how did I live my life? In my opinion, nonsensically.

In France, I didn’t have to deal with some of the problems that I ran into the United States, interestingly enough, I just did not meet those people, so I had an easier time, but I cannot build. It was a basic problem I had. You want to GROW over time. Not email your old professor who lives in some “Oh captain my captain” dream or something? I didn’t find this professor wise, at all, by the way, I eliminated him from my life. Bye. Not a good influence. I look back on that, and I go, hmmm, no, I don’t think so. France would always be there… you see.

Life is a structural exericse and I keep repeating it… because I couldn’t quite get stable, but it was obvious, it’s not working, I have notable adventures here and there, who cares? The stupid gure “she has stories to tell…” Sure. So I end up getting fished, this ex of mine from the United States, he even spoke to me about plant medicines at a party, okay? Oh, I’m interested in psychology, I think. At the time, I thought that I had worked out my problems, like I had done a good job, actually, and I did, that’s true. Personally, I was even admirable. I needed support there, not to get KNOCKED down, which I did, over and over again. I even attracted bullshit, sorry, it’s the morning, and I don’t feel like getting flowery, because of it. On that note, no need to KNOCK anything down, you shouldn’t do that—guru. He was a real idiot, I’m sorry, because he paraded himself around as if he were an expert, when he had no concept of structure. Arendt, on this note, would pass the hat over to me, respectfully.

Life is a structural exercise. I can look back at my life and help someone like me. Or someone who might need real support in a world that will not understand them.

For example, around my childhood story, I made no sense. Now, I’ve come to find that it was hard for people to compute, because it was “otherworldly,” so they can’t grasp it, which wasn’t my fault. It didn’t make sense, and well, when you examine it, it doesn’t make sense unless my father is guilty/sick/both. Standing in a wide open door and watching spectacles of your daughter playing happy go lucky wild through a stranger’s house and getting a door slammed in your face — that’s too deranged to ignore. Psychologically, I will, I won’t be able to make basic connections, not that I forgot, but I was four — at the time. I wasn’t fourteen. I will begin to.

So: “holy shit! I didn’t have a bed in this house?”

So: “holy shit! I’m home right now????? With my parents??? Isn’t he supposedly a child molester?”

So I went through a series of — revelations, realizations, while I was in a psychopathic relationship. The guru.

Somehow, unfortunately, I was not lucky, I did have luck, in that, I was capable, attractive, admirable, and I inherited a bit of money, but that was a TINY point. When I look back, it’s not always easy to even look at myself, because the enchanted persona was bizarre. I remember a boy I sort of dated, which I didn’t understand why, he found me to be a muse, like he thought I was going to inspire a film, something like this, swinging a bright yellow bag with style. I had style, as I ended up meeting (an enabler, self-proclaimed, even) someone who was obsessed with clothes. I was someone who believed in supporting someone, what I felt was their talent— and now I don’t even have a clue nor a care (right now) as to what I want to wear. Around clothes people could be stupid, truly, like, go look at a rich person, do I LOOK like them? I look creative. I look like someone with personal style. But this old friend of mine wasn’t a good idea. Again, there’s nothing wrong with knowing people, hanging out with people, that’s not the problem. The problem was — building.

I get back from France, because this ex of mine was fishing for a wife, really, and I shake my head at this silly man, because when you actually LOOKED at me, if it were a movie, this person would appear ridiculous. I mean, in real life. I did not give off “wife vibes” at all. There was nothing about me that appeared structurally sound, not at that time. I just mean, why are you courting her? THINK, Aretha Franklin. He starts bringing “medicines,” sure, looking back, to Paris once a month… I did a journey with the millionnaire shaman, and I don’t care that he’s done well, but he’s on Medium now. Hannah Arendt is… confused. I believe at this point. So am I, looking back on it, because how did I even get here? That was my experience. How did I even get here? I live in another country? Looking at this ex of mine, you know? Like, thanks, asshole. WHY are you here? Don’t give me special talk. What we had wasn’t that special to wave my arrogant hand at him, while eating a chip, as he did at a psychedelic journey at someone. You can take it. I get…into this community, sort of. I’m not sure about this shaman either. Not so sure about his methods, in fact, or whether or not this is therapy, or — why exactly am I here? How is this going to help me? Me, personally. No one is HEARING what I’m saying. There are extremely problematic people in this mix, even, because I get involved…with who, right away, I wasn’t even back in the UNITED STATES of AMERICA for more than three days, and guess what? In Barbara Harris’s defense — she’s going to be summoned, and be, of course, the best part of my decade.

The guru, I couldn’t have met a worse person. I couldn’t have met more of the OPPOSITE of what I needed. Truly speaking. Someone like me? I think, more so than anything else, during the horrific event I went through, Arendt came to my mind like a beacon of light because I felt seen by her work, she supported my mind, I felt, and I began to see my life extremely clearly. I felt like I realigned, also, I just don’t know what that means, exactly, but I did study the psychology of this sex scandal I was in, and I will soon go to an open mic and just basically break that down for my tiny Instagram community. Thankfully, I also watched Dave Chappelle. “I mean what I say.” I mean what I say. He might say that phrase better than I would, but I’ll try to make you feel the truth of it. “I mean what I say.” But someone like me, I’m seeing a breakdown coming, because I won’t be able to withstand all the pressure. I was not someone to give drugs to, no one — I’m sorry but these glorified drug addicts — seemed to see that I needed help way back there. This so-called therapist the slytherin, in his ivory tower at the Carlyle, saw, recommended — wow, for a psychologist, she called herself, she could spend some time reflecting on it. Was she Lacan? Didn’t need that. And that was obvious. But she’s money hungry. Nice art collection. (I spoke to her about Arendt.) In my mind, psychologists should read Rahel Varnhagen, mandatory reading.

I don’t mean to be brutal, but I had to be, as this world turned out to be brutal. And why? I do not know, guru. I couldn’t believe it — the guru was a Hollywood man, so get ready open mics, I was even in an M. Night Shyamalan film, a funny one, where you just don’t get why everyone is so deranged. “The dark side of manifestation,” where five stars appear for JOHN MALKOVICH — ABSURD, BRILLIANT, HEARTSTOPPING, THE FILM THAT EVERYONE IN AMERICA MUST SEE. That’s what it is. Barbara Harris is even in it. I thought he was a real person, I mean, “for real,” in the way Black people say it, “yes,” they are going to UNDERSTAND me, because they’ve been SAYING IT for a LONG LONG TIME. “Be real.” They get that people can act UNREAL. And this man hears the debut of my story, and I get lured into the opposite of what I need, where this man will be the death of me.

If you do not understand structure, he was one of these, look. I get we believe, and I had dreams that I wish I could have spoken to Arendt about, since it seems like, for better or for worse, I didn’t have a positive reaction to the drugs, but then, my break down came about from a combination of ingredients:

“Holy shit!” My whole life happened.

This guru being a sick man, look, what the fuck was he doing?

I went through a series of strange experiences down there, leading up to the message that came through my website at 5 AM about my bank being shut down immediately after I spoke to slytherin and co about getting my money back.

But you create your own reality, I really took this to HEART, and looking at these gurus from Beverly Hills, “do you even know what that means?” So I couldn’t communicate. Why the guru did what he did, it’s so disturbing, because I would never act that way on the other side of the line. I was breathless.

Again, if you fuck with a Neapolitan, they will try — and in that case, that mother fucker is numero UNO on my shit list.

That was a cluster. Oh, and my closest friend, yes, the one who became my style person, has some fantasy in his head that I am about to make it big, when I cannot even finish a book. Because some fucking screenwriter is reading some pages. Get the fuck out of my life. This man with fantasies of killing a politcian. I thought about him last night, while I was reading about this young man who was assassinated. It’s not him, and I operate as if the spies are already watching me, in a sense, as Dr. J, my mother, apparently works for them, so that’s a joke. Even still, behind closed doors, I’m not talking about PLOTS. If I were a spy, I would have — jokingly, no offense—gotten an ice cream and watched this guy, just to make sure it stays… theoretical.

I’m telling you man, the drugs, people can LEAK all over the place. But I thought about him, and no offense, to whoever did that, what exactly did that do? It didn’t rock anything at all. That was pointless. I don’t know why that man was targeted. So now, the spies are going to have to think, right? Who did that?

Anyway, I woke up this morning, feeling tire and so sad, and I keep moving past it, none of my feelings hold me back from moving forward, but I can’t help that I have them. I’m at square one. I might not be constricted to a linear framework, in that, I could sell a book, get a better job, as I keep looking, but even if I sell a book, you see, life is a structural exercise. You’re not supposed to settle, I don’t think, you’re trying to grow… unless I get millions of dollars, I guess, I’ll have to keep my jobs. THINK. This guru and even slytherin operated so unreally, and yet, they were so wealthy. But with all this obsession with their own wisdom, they were practically inept, they can’t see a basic problem. Was that my beauty? I almost cannot even stomach it, because it did not attract beauty, you see. Nor respect.

So I get a free apartment at the top of the decade — why? Why was this necessary? I suppose if I were thinking correctly, I would have tried to get as many jobs as I could, as I’m doing now, and just STASHED cash. But nay, I needed “time” to write, a trap. To work for a psychedelic publication, and I would leave because of racism. You know, in the middle of protests, I couldn’t have been MORE on TOP on the protests, literally speaking. I was INSIDE the protests, on the phone, you might as well set it up that way… because that’s what it was, and it’s structural. It was an example of it, as these voices rose, something happened at my job, just because, it’s structural, and the structure exists, indeed, inside of us. Dr. Monnica Williams, a racism scholar, and her clinical work involves treating race-related trauma, she told her students, “We’re all racist.” She got blacklash for that. She’s saying that.

I’m on her side, you see, so I come from a system that’s racist, of course.

A big big year. My end. And new beginning, I suppose. I would have to begin my stately biography with the ghost of Barbara Harris (imagine? An actress had to come back from the dead to help me through this… as all these men believe in spirits, life after death, and some unreal line between them, so I’m joking) that there were two lives: one that ended at 36, and one that began thereafter. I successfully got through that, I did, and it was amazing to look back and gasp. The guru especially, a dark man, an arrogant man who would have done me better by keeping it in his pants, since he has impulsivity problems, at times. Not to get sharp, but that was my life on the line, life is a structural exercise.

Dancing around, tap dancing, I get I can “bend reality,” I get that money wasn’t real to this person, which sounds like a joke, I do not know why he acted so cavalier, but he wanted to show his peacock feathers in the weirdest way, like let me help this girl manifest “a successful career as a writer,” when his personal life doesn’t look that abundant, loved, he isn’t surrounded by family and friends, except at his sisters, something. Or, he has some fetish, some reclusive personality, some facet, and I did wonder if he had some personality disorder, that needs to be put in check.

I didn’t lack anything. In fact, I had money. I wasn’t a millionaire, SORRY, you fucking phonies, and the British royal family would be behind me, in an upholstered chair. “Maria is elite,” I would repeat, to them, “she just needs to meet the right people…” right, right. It was hilarious to me. People seemed to be taken with me, by me, why? I do not know because they didn’t tell me. They saw that I had talent, but in which direction, unclear, so it was all ethereal — “so you had a feeling about her?” Imagine Leonardo di Caprio listening to all this. Now picture Will Hunting in Robin Williams’ pub, as we are all Irish here, he’s eating a sandwich, being told by THIS GURU, that I am someone he’s going to spin up because I could be Joyce Carol Oates or something, as everyone could be, he’s so taken by me, and it’s all feeling based. Not to say I didn’t write a good article about Finn Jones, right? But okay, why I had to deal with this shit, I don’t know, but he’s going to ask the bartender…

“Hey,” I forgot his name.

“Yeah?” His voice.

“Ever get a feeling…about someone?”

“Yeah…”

“Who?”

“My future wife…”

That’s exactly what it is. Leonardo di Caprio, I assure you, is on this level.

“WHO IS THIS PERSON?”

That’s a lot to put on someone.

Life is a structural exercise. Mine collapsed. It didn’t have to. Awakening, belonging, getting threats in the middle of the night, I’m psychic, so psychic, being insulted even, as if the guru’s brother thinks that telling someone that they would have spoken to animals in the 15th century is a compliment — he should get a slap across the face. And he was serious. Why so serious? Right? I want to play a Joker. I do.

So what can I say? I hate working in restaurants. I cried in the bathroom last night. I’m grateful for my family, practically, as these people have always been my safety net, actually. My other job scheduled me to work yesterday, though I requested it off, and I thought, sure I can work for 12 hours. They let me go, early, it’s fine, it was so dead too, as I was in a dead restaurant for 7 hours, that I couldn’t handle it, I needed to go to sleep, lay down. I’ll start next week. Obviously, I don’t want to work like this. But I have no choice. Not right now. And losing my net egg, yeah, that hurt bad. I’m going to have to let that other job go. I thought, oh, let me try, actually, let me see if I can keep it as I only work two days a week. I can’t, good to know. My energy is remarkable, it’s true, by around the 11 hour mark, I thought, I have to go home.

Whatever day job I get, I have to not work in a restaurant. So yeah, I had a little cry in the bathroom, as I came from such an unreal world, and I didn’t need chauvanists, the gurus, they were so MALE who could put the Seth books down. They believe, like the psychics, the psychedelic people, speaking of the world…I had dreams that made me think about “other ways of operating” or even improv, that there’s a higher level of consciousness outside the mind, sure. However, one’s world is real, psychology is a real exercise. And if someone is structurally problematic, like my adopted family, right? I ended up in another family???? Structurally unsound.

I could have dismantled this piece by piece.

You can’t just BLASTING someone’s world to pieces, guru. This man had no idea what he was doing. I’m a person who came from a real background, and the way he acted in the beginning there, I wish I could turn back time and SLAP this mother fucker. Disgusting. Why are we talking about my mother? He was so slimy, disgusting, at his computer, the second night we hung out, I was appalled looking back — at him. “You can feel my pain?” Are you insane? Getting OFF on this? I was vulnerable, and I didn’t even see it. His involvement weakened me, he hurt me, he triggered me, he even disturbed me. I just didn’t see it. I developed an attachment to him, that’s not a GOOD sign, and he could have had BALLS, a DICK, in fact, and a HEART. The “you create your own reality” routine, his obsession, didn’t have a positive effect on me, and WHY do you think it would? Idiot psychologist he took himself to be. WHY? He was a sick boy. That’s what I see. Some dipshit.

Keep it in your pants. Stick to your lane. That goes for his brother too.

Hannah Arendt could obliterate these two where they sit, cozy, in Beverly Hills.

So, one’s world, as mine was, might be designed in a way that keeps them on a track… I wasn’t able to see any of it. I wasn’t able to look around and go, “no offense,” and the people around me are acting sort of stupid, because they studied theater, but they will never do it… so they came out of college… and they ended up making small-minded decisions, stuck in their own worlds, and I was shocked that I was one of them. There are so many people in the world, who chose to live their lives in any which way, and it’s not to judge, but coming out of college, I would have grabbed like by the bull horns — and got the fuck out of that world real fast.

I would have totally separated myself from them. See you for a drink, lunch, sure. There are people I know who DO what they set out to DO, and I’m still friends with some of these people, but evidently, now, I live in a world filled with possibilities. It’s just, every time I approach this goddamn bar, slapping mint, a bartender already making fun of me, the tendency of getting spoken DOWN to, I don’t understand, it drives me crazy. I’m 39. I know how to hold a fucking tray. It made me want to quit. Then and there. Someone called me “a doll.” I hate this shit. I cried. Whatever. I don’t feel that way with my bosses, so I’m fine, I’ll find my groove, and I’ll suck it up because I have to. I just hated this decade.

And now, I look back and I go, were these people idiots? I was, that’s obvious. It’s not my FAULT, I’m aware, but I made stupid decisions. There was nothing “intelligent” about this entreprise. The guru was deranged, beyond idiotic, “you create your own reality,” when I needed to hear, “reality happens between us,” as I did not come from his CUSHY world, but I did have MONEY in the bank. So for all your grandoise arrogant MALE obsessions with yourselves, “ohhh he’s the future millionnare shaman,” my ex, even, my problem was basic, and I did not need any of these people, literally none. But it seemed to be a challenge, in my case, that I came from a particular set of circumstances, and I’m going to not be able to see what’s happening because it’s still my world… and it’s developing, for sure, and it’s going to get MEAN and offtrack, I’m going to skate into unreal territory…

The guru was particularly disturbing. I wonder what the spies would think, since they popped up, friends of my mother, and I have to laugh, and GHOMI, the man who used to “work for the government.” Probably, they would see a man with a strong facade. Imagine him being watched? I wonder. Because he was so terribly strange with me, though I suppose we all have normal sides, I don’t know what to say there, but his approach was so questionable to begin with, so why did he do it, that this relationship only appears unhealthy, unnecessary, it was 100% unnecessary. But it served it function, yes. Again, this man role playing some version of my father that did not have to be my problem, while confessing his love to me, what the fuck is he doing? WHY his sister suggested that I meet this man — was she looney? This woman in her nice car? She doesn’t know they’re weird? Her brothers? Really?

Beverly Hills has ears, my friend, like the Carlyle does. Hilarious, hilarious, that I ended up in these locations with MEN attached. I felt my presence received there, looking at my nails, and I felt welcomed. I wasn’t so sure what happened with him, but his little friend with a mouth said that they wanted to get him out of there……… something. I mean, who knows? But this is where I ended up. And all I can do is take myself into my own arms and just hold that person, “not my daughter,” no, as I had to become a parent to myself. I was so heartbroken. I would never wish the guru on a woman, that’s for certain. No tenderness… any facets of closeness or care between us only appears weird, dude. That was weird.

Life is a structural exercise.

Now, I might do a PDF there, and hand it out to every college student. Life is a structural exercise. You’re building over time. You’re also developing over time, and life is a series of choices regardless if you know you’re making them — so choose wisely. The world is vast, full of dangers, and for some, this very well may apply. The world might not KNOW you see, they might not KNOW what they are doing. Your friends might not really be your friends. They might be people you grab a drink with from time to time… catch up with too, sure, but that might not be your inner circle. I came to find that. “This is not my inner circle.” And if you find yourself thinking or hearing, “what do you mean?” It’s time to RAISE your standards.

I had to.

And the best part about that is: you have to RISE to the occassion. If you built it, they will come, yes, Liotta, specifically, yes, James Earl Jones. If you build it, they just might come. It’s a good idea. So as I told myself, this week was going to be little hard, wrapped in an expensive coat, though it wasn’t expensive, it was a vintage, well made, wondering if I should keep these pieces from my old life, or trash them. I don’t know. It’s not really my style anymore, but they always get compliments. I guess I was attached to it, but it’s not really me, so I don’t know what to do yet, as I can’t exactly buy anything until I get to the end of the month. It’s alright, I’m rebuilding from scratch. I can’t help where I’m at, but I can move fast, that I know… I can try and move as fast as I can. I can take deep breaths, get through training, and have a job, and I’ll try to find another day job that I can maintain, like writing, though I evidently want to scream at these men sometime — like why did you bother me?

Couldn’t keep your hands off me? In the strangest of fashion. Picture Hannah Arendt in the room. I did. She’s a powerful person. What would SHE say? That helped me personally, actually. She did more for me dead, than most people did alive. Just because she gave me a way of looking at the world, in my case—mine — and helped me to make sense of the trajectory I took. I thought of others, like, what can I tell them, what would I suggest when it appeared SO obvious. I heard it, too, but it didn’t really apply, like you keep “doing the same thing” without realizing it, you end up, in my case, in instable circumstances, when you don’t have to live that way. I was PSYCHIC, imagine? I became PSYCHIC. You understand? This became “my gift,” my UNDENIABLE, UNMISSABLE gift. Bring me a A-lister. Bring me Edward Norton, let him analyze these words, let him laugh — that I became psychic.

In the end.

I began in a sex scandal.

I ended psychic.

John Malkovich.

It’s Being John Malkovich, but now it’s Being Maria Mocerino — who? Exactly. I have a stupid MOBILE on my head… I keep waking up, wanting to work on other things, but I’m three months into moving back to NYC, and it’s the settling into having a house, hard to explain, as I had a house, but I’m not the same person, and no offense, the end, what I attracted, I’m not that interested in going back, you can keep that person. I’m still sorting through the fucking psychic period. I said to my manager last night, which he didn’t understand, oh, you’re being kind and caring…? Because he asked me, as a warm person who’s normal, “how’s it going?” Shit got weird, shit got weird for me. Max isn’t acting like he’s A GURU, MAX isn’t becoming taken by me, for no real reason. So that was a horrific decade. I became psychic.

If the slytherins did send me that message, or didn’t, the psychic stuff deeply confused me, where I can’t totally place where my feelings are coming from. I wasn’t someone to treat casually. Anyone reading about my early life isn’t going to know what to say about it.

And I’ll be on the mic, the open mic, continuing to make comedy out of it, try to at least. My current employers might even come, eventually, to watch me talk about all this. Sometimes, I fear that the slytherin is reading, I get those quivers, the guru, I truly don’t give a shit, and if the slytherin is, I suppose that answers that question about the message that I got at 5 AM, but that’s a fear, it’s a fear that he actually sent me that message. But he farted on the phone at me long and hard after I got out of the hospital, so he could have. I came from a background, and this was a drug… situation… I didn’t really understand that… I don’t even know how I got here…

I wouldn’t do it again. No no no.

I don’t do any—byeeeee. You can most definitely keep them… it wasn’t a look good from here. Even my former closest friend, as he presented himself as “my manager?” With a belittling hand? When I don’t do anything that requires a manager, and if I needed a manager, if I move into that space as a performer, I’m definitely not calling that guy. Imagine? He was already at a manager? He called himself my manager…when I was not an actor. He thought that… the screenwriter was already at a movie, yikes, imagine? He thought, that I was going to be on TV, like I was going to…

Where am I?

Look, as a sneak preview, the world is going to go, “so you were in a sex scandal…”

So it’s a bit weird for me right now, because I’m looking at social media, with this guru in my mind, telling me to get on it, and diffuse my story on it, and I don’t know how to proceed.

Yup, you heard me, a sex scandal: 11k a month, spectacles for the child molester, girls stationed side by side to receive a drugged woman’s aria, her breasts at the front door, um, sudden drop offs at my house to some mysterious business manager with SPY affliliations, apparently, and me running across a shopping center in socks to get to the Sheriff—I’m eight, not eighteen. Yeah, it’s a little sex scandal, and I’m waking up through this like, wait a minute! My parents? What the fuck is going on? We’re even partying through it — I was “saved” by a sex goddess, even, a dancing Brazilian mother… who’s obsessed with sex the year that Kaoma’s Lambada took the world by storm, okay? A song and dance about sex. It was a sex scandal! It might even be biblical. It’s a funny sex scandal, but it was a sex scandal. I was four. Gross. Thet sexual trauma expert is WHISPERING not really that I was FOUR and I was really in this situation, so “could it have been true?” Um, yeah, off the bat, “sure.” He wanted me to continue, and I’m speaking to him, like “oh my God.” My mother is accosting priests with her rapes EVERY Sunday, according to an eye-witness, and at this point, I’m sick and tired of needing to………….EXPLAIN.

I’ll clear it up at the next open mic, for sure. The comics have been kind to me, patient. THEY GET IT, they’ve seen me collapse onto a stool with a lidocaine patch on my hips, as I suddenly got weird hip pains, okay? “And I was in a sex scandal,” I’m saying, and I almost couldn’t stand… they… held…their gaze. Their eyes collectively shifted to the stool. I had to sit down. I was working on my feet, I said, and I got this flare up, and I royally flipped out, because I went through so much pain in that area of my body. So I freaked out, because I went through a lot of pain and then it stopped, and I didn’t have any problem. I went to my physician finally, who just said, “let’s run some tests.” Isn’t that obvious?

And this sexual trauma specialist I spoke to, I’ll speak to him again next month, he told me that people can describe what I’m describing, but I also read that psychosis, actually, might come with similar sensations. Look, at this point, with that story, who cares if I disconnected from reality? What even was the reality? I went through something real, for sure. But I had no one to talk to, and I would suggest not talking about it, because the people around me, their reaction only caused me more problems. Mental health sucks. I got the picture.

Anyway, my closest friend got into drugs, but he was always into drugs, and I didn’t need this, my mother was a severe addict, and I didn’t understand why I was here in a world of drugs, too, or medicines. I don’t have a problem with them, I was interested in how they were helping people, of course, but they did not help me, not the way I was doing it. I still will support them, but I exited. No thanks. Looking at my ex boyfriend, what were you thinking? Here’s the thing about drugs, I don’t care. Be casual about it, other about it, I just don’t want to be involved.

Right? Wow, what a gasp. Where am I? The ghost of Barbara Harris and I making a quick escape, out of the weeds… we’re outta there. I’m sorry but that was a giant no, that was a giant no across the board. And now, hopefully, I’ll alchemize these experiences into gold. I picked a super emotional monologue to do for my auditions coming up, very raw, and big, so I can show emotional range. I will keep getting up to the mic, next week, once I get this foundational layer sorted. I have a job. I’ll take it step by step. I can’t keep this other restaurant job, good to know, I can’t work for 12 hours on my feet. So, I’m glad they made that mistake. I’ll try to find another writing job, as I’m needing to keep working towards my goals, career wise.

Structure. Life is as structural exercise. And my boss, you know, she knows the guru. That’s why I don’t understand what he was thinking. In terms of getting all “you create your own reality” and getting involved with me, in the way that he did, I guess he really believes that you can bend reality, you get what you focus on, but again, none of these ideas were my problems… and if someone needs to work out… a complicated childhood, THINK. Not the time. There’s only so much that a person can do, and I am not a superhero, so you can take your world without LIMITS as that, holy shit, that was like kryptonite to me, and leave me alone. I didn’t need someone without limits. So, deep breaths, zen. Everyone likes me at my job, I think, thus far, and I’ll close on Friday. I’ll be tired on Saturday, but I’ll be alright, as I have to work on Saturday morning. I’m seeing myself ON Netflix most definitely. Surprise!!! Oh shiiiiiit, oh shit! I’m Irish step dancing, if I can manage it, I’m kicking my feet, I was in a sex scandal! Goddammit.

I wrote yesterday, as I’m basically outpouring, I can’t help it, that an apocalypse, and I’ll address this issue, as well, as I believe apocalypses are “very personal,” gives you the chance to show yourself what you’re made of. So I went through a world end. People have. My friend, he did, and he came back a real champion. So, I can too. I keep reading, I keep working on my book, and I’m trying to build a platform, obviously, but I think there’s a way through the comedy circuit in some capacity. I have to keep working on it, I have to get into rehearsal room, book space for this pianist, as I met someone else, and I need money to do all that. One step at a time.

I have to get ready for work, as I put in my two weeks, and I’m going to keep it that way. I got a Brazilian hook up, as there are Brazilian babes at my old work, so I can find a Brazilian woman to talk to, so I can absorb the accent. I can’t sound vaguely latin, though for a while, I can, sure. “Maria!” I gotta get a tennis cap. “I’m coming for you…” I need epic Brazilian vibes. I need a CHORUS of Angelicas: the goal. I need a chorus of hot legs. I need a chorus of Angelicas saying— “MARIA! This BEETCH told me rape!” It was classical, for sure. I have my GOAL, and I’m a latin man, in the middle of all of it. I’m dancing with the chorus of hot Brazilian women… sometimes I’m in a tennis skirt, but I’m so white, it’s funny, as I don’t belong in this picture. But I’m sure there are fairskinned Brazilian women, Gisele might be one of them, I just don’t know enough about Brazil, though I am an honorary citizen, of course. A BRAZILIAN mother was told that a four year old was being raped, now, she seems to communicate — that she was BRAZILIAN… you see. It wasn’t a detail. She was going to go CRAZY. What the hell, would people have expected that she was going to react well, I mean, my father starting CALLING, you guys, though he had no idea — right? supposedly — WHAT was being said. Now here, that’s where, we’re in the Twilight Zone. Because, huh? And THEN, he requests to VISIT. He doesn’t just PICK UP his child. And the fun begins.

“We’re going to put on a NICE show, big big show,” she said.

“Suuuuure, what a LOVELY idea,” she might have said, not lovely, “wonderful,” even “amazing,” who knows, “of course, why not 8:30?” I mean, ludacrious. Yes, was it the dementia? Yes, he was diagnosed with dementia… I’m shrugging, because I don’t know what to say. When I feel more conclusive, I’ll let you know. But last night, on this floor, this delusional traveling, which wasn’t really traveling, my father and I traveled for a few years in the summers after this scandal, and I can’t totally place how his dementia, his denied dementia, affected me. I don’t know what to say about his condition, and no offense, the average person doesn’t SEE so much.

So that’s it, see you on the mainstage, next week — you might knock me down, but I’m a fucking Neapolitan. Okay? So I’m just going to get LOUDER, PUSHIER, I’m going to come with BATS and back up. I’m going to put on a performance while revolting… I’m going to cue APPLAUSE, SONGS, DANCING. We’re going to put on Frank Sinatra’s My Way in the streets, we’re going to blow them up with fireworks, we’re going to riot, yeah, we’re all going to be fine… over this? We’re revolting for sure.

Oh my God, it’s Dr. J, though she had blue eyes. Mirror mirror mirrors mother, on the wall, yes, who IS the fairest of them all. “She was the whitest woman I have ever seen,” and it was sincere. She was. “Kinda reminded me of Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians, do you know her?” Just great. “And she lived in the kingdom of Magic Johnson…” like, you guys, my father told me that someone was raped in my room… okay? Was it the dementia? You see?