Don’t Miss The Sunday Blues

Some past musings for my upcoming book launch #sexparty


“Bohemian Reclamation…” defines “Bohemian” as “a person with artistic or literary interests who disregards conventional standards of behavior,” or “unconventional in appearance and behavior; ‘a bohemian life style.’”  Those of us “art house types” with undying sophomoric ideals that last way beyond the point of falling under a “growing pains” category tend to lose sight of certain genuine perplexities in life as we get older and start having to pay our own utility bills, etc.  The times when we sat on a hardwood floor in a small apartment on the wrong side of town listening to the Smiths or Hendrix over eye-watering bong hits and shots of cheap vodka and beer thinking about what’s so fucked up with the rest of the world while not doing anything to make a difference seem like pure heaven now that we’re stuck in some meeting with business school grads talking about “stepping up to the plate to get to the bottom line at the end of the day” in shoes that cost a lot but aren’t really that comfortable.  Adulthood happens if you haven’t OD’d or gone through with that plan to drive that old car that keeps breaking down into the ocean after downing a bottle of Jack Daniels.  So, acceptance overriding futility, you can choose to reclaim some of your bohemian tendencies no matter what age.  Remember, everyone raises an adoring eyebrow at a non-violent eccentric.

“Inevitability is stronger than ambition…”  There seems to be some kind of cosmic plan, nothing I can put my finger on, but signs lead me to inspiration and mysticism, especially when I most feel the need to deny their very existence, it’s inevitability, not the kind of inevitable decline that pervades the kind of “bohemian” existence we have, but a cosmic guide, a force, may the force be with you, since, as we know, the road to hell was paved with unrealistic ambition.

“The trappings of style…”  When life gets to the point where you get paid a lot of money for what you do and you invest that money into something that makes even more money, then you feel compelled to spend the money on expensive things that invariably make other people jealous even though that wasn’t really your intention (or was it?).  This is particularly true if you grow up without knowing any kind of luxury while saying over and over “I can’t afford it” when presented with an opportunity to indulge in something that seems far from reach and being jealous of others to whom the trappings of style seem to come so easily.  “Trappings” are meant to be things that “trap” like “you are a prisoner of your Porsche” or “that Armani is strangling you with its fine lines.”  Well, not if you just unlock the door and get out and get naked.  A wise philosopher once said there are no facts just interpretations.  Once you break the shackles of societal misconception you are at liberty to be as stylish as you want, without regard to cost, for, you’ve somehow put all those zeroes in the checkbook, feel free to charter a G4 at whim and fly to your favorite waterfront view for the day or stroll indifferently into the local exotic car showroom and make a stuffed salesman’s day by charging a new Lamborghini on the Black Amex… “Deliver it to the estate after tomorrow’s brunch…”  “Style” equates with “Substance,” or “stuff to be envious of.”  But you don’t have to be trapped by it, luxuries by definition are there to take pleasure in, for genuine pleasures in life, even if you’re rich, are really so few.

“The Tyranny of Social Graces…” Social graces, the kind of falsehoods and airs people put on to impress each other are a true tyranny in a world so overridden with underlying hostility, an unnecessary evil.  Get to the point: “You suck.”



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