I woke up and I just wanted to cry — not to Gumby, but there’s a part of me that feels very understood by her. She’d probably understand me even better now that she has a child of her own. Like, no offense, to her mother, I really truly did not want to get into that kind of relationship with someone else’s mother. That did not help me, exactly. Not at all. And a social worker, I bet you anything, would really be able to back me up. I did NOT want to be in that relationship. I was in a totally insane situation when I was four, where my mother paid a woman to protect me against my father, because she said he was abusing me… and I woke up to this crap later. And then, because of it, my father always sort of a weird guy, a guy who’s going to sit there and watch his child get…integrated into this family…in my opinion, in an unnecessary way. Sometimes, I wonder if I should become a social worker — because think about it this way: HEY LADY! Punching GLINDA, Gumby’s mother out of the spell she was in. “Ever thought of calling HER FATHER?”
TALKING TO HIM? LIKE DO YOU KNOW what’s going on?
I think, with my father, on the psychospiritual plane, to make a joke, I don’t know who this man is. No one confronted him. Was he… sick, deranged, or was he sick or deranged in another way? I wonder, I do, if anyone dared to confront him, what he would have done… so I wish I had someone, yes, an advocate, that would have been able to confront the entire situation. What the hell is going on here? With a cop. Is HE ABUSING HER? Who the hell is GHOMI? He’s not LEGALLY allowed to be here — dismissed. Who the hell is this man? Acting like he’s in charge.
This was the psycho-iamginative journey… sitting all these people in a room and going, “start talking.” So, this is, where the figure of my father remains in…a totally vague…unresponsive form. Was he just sick? Impaired? And I had to shake OFF a lifetime of IDIOTS who might, in the future, needing to get this goddamn GURU out of my head, APOLOGIZE? Fuck off.
I’m in my second surrogate house, right now, Gumby would like this, moving down shadowed halls. “This is good.” She’s trailing behind me, playing “an orphan…” Gumby stays. “Shit gets complicated,” she’d say, like a real DUDE, when she was like, twelve. “Actually, scratch the profanity, gotta keep it clean, keep it clean…” I’d start laughing. “For the kids, Maria…” she made me laugh, she really did.
Like, my father having ALZHEIMER’s or being SICK doesn’t MAKE ANYONE feel better, you see. WE GET THAT HE WAS SICK, but HOW? That’s the point that Obama would get, right away, as I needed this person through this imaginative tale.
In other words, I think my cousin’s wife, not my surrogate mother, not my “like a mother,” since that was unneccessary, though he was old. So maybe there’s something WRONG? Even? Did I not say that to her? I sort of remember that, you see what I mean? I mean, now, as an adult, who just woke up to my entire life, what even was going on here? You felt bad for me because I didn’t have a mother? Wow, at that point, I must say, that was the least of my issues, and I can’t help that I was impacted a bit too young to understand that by what had happened. Of course I’m not going to want to be around my father, just looking at my mother! How could you even DATE this person? Who was this man? I’m telling you! It’s amazing to me. So I had the impulse to write Gumby, not to say all this, but she say hello, basically, happy holidays. I still can’t believe that I feel like I just got here…like, college, everything from college onwards…I have no idea what happened there. I go back to Astor Place Starbucks where I began talking to friends I had met, who don’t remotely get it, still, which is shocking to me, and I’m talking — in spurts of sparkles? Gumby would be like, “what are you even doing?” That I’m given away, wee, I have all these mothers? Then, in the end, I’m in another family entirely… where my teacher at my high school became my mother — you see? The risk I was in? Please, stop taking me in. For seemingly “no reason.” It was amazing.
Now, I can’t even talk to this mother because that family has so many problems that she can’t handle where I’m at. I can’t play “patty cake bakers man” right now, not when I don’t know if I was abused… past the point I was already. I think a psychologist would tell me that the situation on Miracle Mile was abusive, it certainly wasn’t well, and of course, I’m going to be blamed, of course, throughout my whole life… for stuff that wasn’t really my fault.
Somewhere in some hole in Bangkok, no offense, I went, what happened to me? How did I get here? Looking at this Hollywood screenwriter: he should be ashamed of himself. Truly ashamed. He got stars in his eyes, turned on, truly, by that STORY? In its unclear form? He wanted to help me MANIFEST reality? Become Alexander the Great? I was blown away by this guy. Maybe I am, in the end. A real warrior. I don’t know, but that relationship with the screenwriter in particular totally totally obliterated me. A social worker—just picture someone like that—taking him in.
I would call him disgusting. His behavior was appalling. People spend their lives working with people in the real, and the last thing I needed was “the Seth books,” if you can even imagine… and of course, he believed I was psychic just like the rest of this pool of people I was splashing around… I became psychic. That would make Gumby laugh, I think. I did not need to become psychic. I would call it an unnecessary turn… I guess I was pretty, I dressed well, another point: what I wore, did not help me. I mean, you can get designer clothes for like nothing, you know, if you know where to go, how to shop, and I feel like I’m speaking so basically, like it’s obvious, like you judged a book by its cover hardcore. There’s a lesson there.
I fell asleep to Ellen, thinking about Gumby, wishing we had gone into entertainment together. That was one of the realizations I had as I feel like, yeah, I would have appreciated support in my youth, for sure, because that was all rather unconscious…. I needed to get to this basic point: get a place, it might not be nice, so you better move fast, “we’ll talk this weekend.” And in just a few months, right? I found a better basic job. I have another interview coming up. I’ll have to work multiple jobs for a minute, but I gotta save as much as I can… holding onto a baby, even, in some dark fairytale as we get whisked away by supernatural aide (to bring in the imaginative journey, what these stories tend to inspire, with Gumby twirling in the snow to some cinematic score of children singing “ah”) She was my partner, not friend, but my partner in entertainment crime. And I thought, wow, it never even occurred to me, I could have moved to New York, laid some groundwork, and we could have — done it, together, separately, we were always our own person, but we discussed our relationship openly, it was professional. And we’d laugh and laugh.
“Professional,” she would move through the space between us. Her mother would nod at the two of us, sort of amazed and puzzled. “I am not her, she is not me.” But we are partners, professional partners, yes. We were a pair. And looking at these so-called theater students, Gumby was — tap dancing, full of charm and class, humor and heart, well beyond her age. A true entertainer.
So I woke up wanting to cry because I was watching Ellen up there, moving through her whole career — suddenly surrounded by SHE IS EVIL, she is MEAN, MEAN. MEAN GAY ELLEN. And there she is, standing on stage regardless, not saying she wasn’t MEAN perse, but LOGIC wise, that’s FUNNY isn’t it? That she is the mean one. You know, I thought, maybe there’s still a way to get there, and I keep putting feet forward, not knowing what to do with the story, if you would. If it’s even necessary, but in my Netflix special, you see, I would step up — in shoes that are too big for me — and it was, a fake newscaster, helicopters over a house, “this just in, a sex scandal in Miracle Mile….” That’s step one. Now, the labyrinth to get here, it’s just that — with some hot air balloon ride mixed in, Laura Croft Tomb Raider, a backflip over Beverly Hills. A screenwriter… to land here. I had to make myself laugh, I think, and I like Ellen’s laid back style… she’s good at logic. I’m not there, because I can’t quite break through the shock of the story. So I’ll just have to keep figuring it out. But I won’t give up. I think, whoosh, putting that story out there on social media…
Look, to the screenwriter, it was terrifying, and maybe someone who comes from just a really really — for real — complicated background, like “my mother murdered…my father,” something like this, suddenly going online and doing a dance, “and you too can overcome intergenerational trauma” this isn’t going to land right. BUT of course, he encouraged me to speak about ITALY, a country I am not from. “Go back to Italy,” he said, when I am not FROM there. NEXT— I did a Matrix “how low can you go” under that one, because it’s a larger problem where people from the US aren’t “from the United States” because we’re all immigrants. TWO FEET, on the ground, I am from CALIFORNIA. Okay, solid ground. Sure, it was a sports Christmas, full of true ancient intensity and hilarity, but, even my family story, man, like, I guess someone could find me on these channels, but I found it weird, like a bizarre direction to give someone who came from my background… it’s just, no one saw it, and sorry, I’m “hot,” I guess? I don’t know what to say there. I seem warm? Sure, why not SUCK IT OUT OF ME screenwriter. He totally dashed who I was, but, here comes GARY, he had, with a wave of his hand, no issues seeing “sure, and you’re also special,” he dismissed it. “Weird men.” And given what his personality is like, I’m throwing fast balls, really fast balls, because he was an ogre. And I can’t SEE it, I get all wrapped up in this person.
Hopefully, to the same “ahhhh” music, flying through a dark Christmas with Ellen, now, why not? Because I watched her special last night, and I am psychic as she is, and we are able to really communicate on the psycho-spiritual plane, and she can even help me. Maybe I will arrive somewhere I felt I always wanted to be. It’s just a matter of getting there. Anyway, I’m glad I just wrote here, rather than reach out to Gumby. The past is the past. I don’t think it’s even totally fair, just the whole situation. But with her, especially, I do hope that maybe we can meet again. What a nightmare! I mean, I needed to celebrities to dash these fantasies. “This sounds like a nightmare.” I heard Tom Hanks say that, somewhere out there. I have to laugh. I was SHOOTING lampoons across the psychospiritual plane — right? — raising the sea, vaguely remiscient of a video game ad I saw — and sending the WAVE, as the screenwriter spoke in WAVES, of INFORMATION to the CELEBRITIES. Help!
Help me GET to your TV, help me ENTERTAIN you. There is a REALITY that already exists, in which I am on your TV, and you’re saying this: wow, that person is talented and funny, good for you. That is all. That is all I am asking. It’s plain and simple. Help me GET there. With the ghost of Barbara Harris. I am not attached, in the words of my Russian mother, “I am light being.” So I hope to get there, laughing, basically, so I can fulfill my true destiny as a worldclass entertainer.
Anyway, that’s the sort of thing, you see, that this screenwriter would SUGGEST I do. And I was so angry, so I might as well joke around. Thank you to the celebrities, as an entity, for hearing my call, Obama especially, he was right there, right there, we even played baseball as training, as the American passtime, things work differently on this plane, it’s not literal, I’ll explain later. But Obama was happy to lend a hand.
Anyway, I needed some relief this morning because I woke up with a heavy heart. And I watched Tom Cruise, he said, you’re only afraid of the unknown, that’s all it is. And I am, admittedly, because I am 40, and I’m trying to let that go, too, Vera Wang started her business at that age, people come up at different times in their lives. I’m sure even “the celebrities” have suffered financial losses, there’s a story for everyone. I don’t think I was a criminal because I went through a hard time, sure, you can call me — a YOUNG, immature person, I guess, I don’t know what to say, when your father has been denying his illness, to then find out it was true, to then look around…a nightmare… why am I in another family? That was family two. Why am I here, exactly? That was confusing to me.
So I had to let that go, I’m sorry, the whole thing, because, when I was four, I was in a sex scandal… if you would… and I’m looking through pictures of my childhood — just searching for dates. I’ll just stand firm in that fact, and watch the BEAST, yes, as this is an imaginary voyage for sure, this gnarly beast (did you see how COOL that beast was??) That’s the point. Gumby is on my side, for sure, offering us comedic relief, in a tweed coat, holes in her gloves, some soot on her face. This gnarly beast, I have finally defeated him, and with all the tentacles, he is gasping his least weezy, scary breath, and going back to the gloomy abyss, the waters, where he belongs…the clouds part, there’s some sunlight, but still, to GUMBY, we have to get through that forest, next, tossing me an apple. “Eh,” be careful. I suppose I felt I had an ally in her, even if I don’t speak to her anymore.
Anyway, I’m off, I have to put myself in action, it’s taking me some time to get back up there, to the comedy stage, but I will, I’m trying to just take a breath, and evaluate what I am trying to accomplish. I don’t know if social media is going to help me, I think like anything else, I get triggered by RULES, now here, I could be sardonic, in that, I hate social media, because people care about it so much. Do not TELL me that you don’t care, when YOU DO. Me? I do not care. At all. I do not care if you post 4 times a day, once a day, I do not care if you are characters, if you are posting pics of your kids. I do not care. I am not from a box, if I start to feel boxed in, I can react. Like Dave Chappelle said, sure, I might have been selling pudding pots for 40 years, since I gave off that vibe, but I came from a background, and I might say some real shit from time to time. In any case, I don’t know if there’s a reason to be AGAINST. I wanted to try stuff, while working out this guru out of my mind as that took YEARS, years, this douchebag who thinks he’s a psychologist… so, I don’t know, but I’ve sort of let that go until I have…a better sense of what it is that I am doing…and how THIS animal could possibly assist me. I guess. I don’t know what to say about that screenwriter.
But I got a date with a piano player, so I’m going to send him some songs, and I will hopefully convince this other one to simply help me with making this video, and I do not understand his problem, so I can get gigs. I’d like to sing. That’s one of my goals. And I’ll do my best to get there. I need a gig, first, first step. That’s doable. And then, I need to get an agent, as I’d like to act, so I’ll work on that. I might need to get into an acting class, or reach out to an acting coach, who would help me find scenes, so I can film them, and get a REEL up so I can keep working towards that one. And, I’d like to finish this EPIC piece, so I can hopefully move my arrow into the realm of Film and TV. And sure, a book, I’ll do that. I don’t THINK writing is my dream, but it might be a solid way of making an income, though I haven’t figured this out yet. How to make this work for me. I mean, flexiblity wise too, but for the moment, I’ll be working multiple jobs. THE GURU, the Hollywood screenwriter was not from my world, at all. Remember, dipshit, no offense, CULTURAL PSYCHOLOGY first. If you cannot RELATE, at all, stay away. He didn’t even know anything about women. Come on. Be real. Sure, you have a sister, think about her life path… that guy was harmful, his intention, he can LEARN a wise lesson or two out of this one.
A, do not fuck with a Neapolitan — this is first. (Gumby would be laughing, because technically she is one too) We will revolt. There will be songs, dancing, and comedy shows, sure, it will be a block party… normally we’d deface public property, too, but the time of Kings is over, where they would have watched from pretty windows… totally at a loss with these people… you cannot govern them, not totally.
SO, if you mess with a Neapolitan, Sorrentino my witness, my fan, they will do whatever it is that is necessary — to get RIGHT to your door. And they usually, most likely, have a group with them. The political arena is complicated, no? I would be bringing singing, dancing, rowdy people with me… so that’s the first joke. They would be tossing ME bats, we could even write the greatest musical the world has ever seen — another bat, and they are cheering me on because I am expected to perform even duting a revolt. Expected to. They will remark, as it’s happening, “you see how she’s swinging both bats around?” A true Greek chorus.
Anyway, anger happens.
But for real, he could learn a lesson or two out of this. I was not a TOY. He could put away the PSYCHIC stuff, his FEELING, his obsession with being a superior FEELER, as if PSYCHIC, and administer a dose of DOUBT and RESPECT into his operation. You see, I’m a fan of differences for this reason — it’s a sign of respect. Don’t act like you can relate if you can’t. Like your money and status somehow gives you superhuman GOGGLES through which to SEE THROUGH someone, just stop.
So, my heart continues to MEND, literally.
Wish me luck.
Anyway I’m off.
Let the ending be “carry your candle…” a spiritual. “right through the darkness…”
Gumby still there, covered in soot, in a smart tweed coat, though, someone dropped off a good one to the orphange, and she snagged that one real quick. She was so talented, to me, she was just such a talented girl. I was her biggest fan. So I’ll keep that tucked in my shirt pocket.