A Stream of Consciousness Part 4

Similar to my life in the music business, I had an inkling that my vocational forte, being of the “Gonzo” variety would attract more of a novelty crowd, who would naturally pay me in novelty wages, which consist of pocket change; a promising dead-end referral to a fictitious partner, and a half smoked joint and a few xanex on the side.  I knew I wanted to avoid this vocational pitfall, so in order to make some progress and some money, I would have to find that delicate balance between “underground credibility”, and “selling out like Metallica”…to this day I agree with Beavis, James Hetfield looks like the cowardly lion.

One day I called in sick from work.  The word sick is subjective in nature, and on this day I felt sick in the head.  This is not an uncommon (or invalid for that matter) reason for me to fuck off work for a day or two at a time.  Don’t get me wrong, I have a strong, great, and noble work ethics, I just feel about half the work in life is meaningless, redundant, and stupid, and taking care of thy health is more important.

I ran across Craig’s List, and found a posting that read something along the lines of “Writer wanted, will pay”.  Sounds great, what do I write about?  I emailed the link, and was called back within the hour.  The lady (not disclosing names here) asked me a few questions.

Mysterious Benefactor:  “Hello, I have a few questions to ask you to make sure you will be the right guy for the project”

Me: “o.k.”

Mysterious Benefactor: “Do you like cats?”

Me: “I love pussy and pussy loves me!!”

Mysterious Benefactor: “Are you familiar with the T.V. show Glee?”

Me: “My estranged fiancé’s mom forced me, through guilt and manipulation, to watch that show a few times.”

Mysterious Benefactor: “Are you familiar with non-profit organizations like the Sierra Club?”

Me: “Oh man, I blazed so many trees while working for Green Peace I smoked the Sierra’s up, I even forgot my job description.”

Mysterious Benefactor: “Great.  I need you to write an interview for my cat, Aragon, who plays Lord Tubbington on Glee.”

Me with a furrow brow: “Saaaaayyyy what?”

                Now, I am no stranger to personification my any means.  In fact, I frequently utilize this underrated art as an improvised ruse to bamboozle any would be accuser or critic with any and all objects within my peripheral view.  Personification always for conveniently creating some of the most bizarre scapegoats, that are such a mind-fuck to process, you have no choice but to pause and scratch your head for a moment and say “Did that crazy bald white dude just really say that?”   But a cat...that I don’t love or care for or know…well if I have sold auto-warranty before, this should be easy.  I am getting paid for it.  Why not, but wait…what’s the edge on this cat?

                It was then explained to me that this was no ordinary cat, but an enlightened animal actor.  In fact, this was the actual “Lord Tubbington” of the T.V. show Glee, and I was talking to the cat’s real life owner.  She proceeded to explain to me that she took her cat on volunteer work, and that the goal was to get more acting gigs for the cat.  My heart opened up a little bit.  I thought about the fellows on Death Row who use cats as a means of therapy, I thought about Tony the tiger, I thought about my dear and beloved childhood pet Nelly, a Maine Koon (or is it Coon?)  cat…but then I was overcome with it, the FEAR. 

The fear always creeps in the most cunning and sublime fashion.  Similar to the feeling one might feel when they are at a car lot, just window shopping, and then four car salesman jump out of the woodwork, ready to rape the poor soul with “easy financing options”.  The fear’s suggestions are not only originating from the depths of the ID, SUB-EGO, and EGO, but are also mixed with thoughts and feelings as well various stimuli in the physical environment of the moment.  The fear always speaks in four part harmony, thus giving the fear a certain musical appeal, and making it harder to resist.

“This sounds like something to wholesome for you.” Says the ID.  “Yeah, how the hell is a multiple felon with diagnosed psychiatric conditions, who swears worse then Andrew Dice Clay, Timothy Leary (not the “guru”) and the whole cast of South Park, suppose to write for a Disney audience?”  Says the EGO.  “Very carefully you dumb mother fuckers!”  But right after I call my inner children that, I notice that a group of Koreans are starting at me, and that it is highly inappropriate to have this conversation with myself in the lobby at the Bank of America in Garden Grove while waiting in line to cash a check on a Friday.

            

    The only way to overcome the fear is…

A.      Spiritual works of mercy and fortitude

B.      Compulsive drinking

C.      Irresponsible behavior

                But the trick this day was changing my personal beliefs.  I can do this.  I can write an article that is wholesome in nature, yet fun and spunky.  Should I meet him first, or just start writing about him.  This was indeed going to be a challenge, but I NOW BELIEVE THAT I CAN OVERCOME CHALLENGES IN LIFE.

                I met the cat a few days later, sure enough, he was a cat.  A well mannered cat, that didn’t easily freak-out over things, with a nice looking coat, and was about the size of small dog.  It was quite, docile, and fun to be around.  I concluded that this cat was unique, and technically a one of a kind, but still a cat none the less.  Think damn it, think.

                I went through all the models and modes of writing yet could not put the voice together.  My first was much more of a musicians Bio for a cat.  “Lord Tubbington, born in Maryland.  Likes to eat steak, sleep, and roll around in catnip.  Gets along well with others and has traveled around the country.  Says “MEEEOOOOWWWW” when he is angry.  Tickets on sale now!”  It was a bio, and it was terrible.  The cat’s personality was unclear, his motives contradicting.  Why the fuck can’t every character end its day with a cold beer as its goal.

                It was suggested to me that I write an interview with some outlined questions.  The material was practically handed to me.  All I had to do was write it in my voice.  As an incentive, I was also promised a spot to put a link to my blog.  Exposure is terrible in the music biz (it’s a way to not pay the artists) but might be what I need here.  I went home and feverishly started writing.  If it were not for computers and word processing software, I’d be totally fucked in life.  Third graders spell better than me, my penmanship rivals that of a doctor, and I am constantly wondering “Who learned me to spoke Anglsih?”  

Continue Reading : A Stream if Consciousness Part 5-Final