If I lived on the moon I would never have to think about success again. I would only need to wake up and fall asleep and the earthlings would watch in wonder.  I could watch the world twirl from the comfort of finally feeling accomplished. A simple existence.  Little boys and girls and gender fluid children would learn about me and my private rock floating in space. How I lived in isolation and glory. The dictator of a baron landscape. A loner with a killer view. If I lived on the moon I would be lighter. Not because of the gravity situation but because the pressure of becoming and achieving soemthing would be lifted.  And when I watched the Earth glow and bob in the endless night I would thank my lucky stars that I was able to depart such a dysfunctional system. I would send my love to all life forms stuck on the cement and enslaved to the money.  Yes it would be a wonderful feeling to never have to want anything ever again. But then of course- form here- Mars does look pretty good.



I was different at night. I was loose. I liked the person I became when my vices took over. Fun. Wild. Unapologetic. A blind thrill seeker lost in a world of lights and stimulation. For a couple years in my 20’s I was the most famous person in a 5 block radius. I was Madonna. I was Courtney Love. I was Lady Gaga’s less talented, gay younger brother. Sometimes when I see Gaga on TV I feel like she stole my life. Every time I did a line I pictured her on SNL singing about her dreams coming true. But those were my dreams too. I wanted it just as bad. My desperation is no different. How did hers manifest into global stardom and mine into a decade of hangovers. If I was paid every time I watched the sunrise through the eyes of cocaine fueled club I would be a billionaire. I could take Gaga out for a big bloody steak every night until I convinced her she was a thief. I would get her so drunk on the most expensive champagne and push her out into the streets. She would stumble out in front all the paparazzi and fans she stole from me. And as her limo driver speed up to the restaurant to pick her up she would tumble down from her sky high heels and he would run her over. She would die and I would be avenged. Her limo – or my limo rather – would come rescue me from the kingdom I currently inhabit. I am the ruler of this land. This place somewhere between a bender and breakthrough.

welcome to my unraveling

“You should party. You should be sober. You should go dancing. You should stay home. You should be in the alley chain smoking. You should be at the after party.  You are desperate for love but you’re not going to get it. You are desperate for validation but no body likes you. I’m broke. I’m lonely.  I’m addicted. I have to be famous . My dreams are too big. If you’re not successful you might as well die. You’re only pretending everything is ok. You should be a statue. You should be perfect.  You’re a disappointment. You have to impress everyone else. Everyone else in the world is more important than you. You can only relax if you’re getting attention. You’ve hit rock bottom. Wake up. Get Up. Fix this mess. ”  –  casual thoughts, casually insane