ICYMI, Part XI
Editors Note: it feels weird to be publishing an interview with myself. But Frankie was certain that was the correct course of action. When I talked about seeking a different publisher, he cited creative control, the integrity of his column, and his feeling that Unlikely Stories was the best venue for the interview. So here it is.
“He who loves the most regrets the most.”
-Waymond,
Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.
The clinically renowned Savanna Theory of Happiness dictates that people of higher intelligence prefer solitude over socializing, due to the evolution of innate response systems from a different time in the world and these traits are sometimes at extremely unapproachable odds with modern society. This demographic is prone to zoning out, trapped by an incubation period; subconsciously solving problems front-faced/ below immediate detection; they avoid small talk and are never satisfied with surface-level interactions…
I think I’ve made it very apparent that I’m not a mark. Before the trial with my accuser was dismissed, my lawyer advised me that:
“I know you don’t like to kiss ass, but maybe with your probation officer…”
“I should kiss his ass a bit?”
“Yea. That’s what I would suggest.”
Censorship seems to be a re-emerging trend. I’m not going to do well with such stipulations in the new contract; it’s a constant debate, I’m told I shouldn’t say certain things out loud or at least maybe think about seeing a psychiatrist, because some of my ideas are too strongly worded.
It’s 7/6/26 and I am gearing up to talk with Verizon Customer Service for the 7th fucking time…
This Google Pixel 10 is a real piece of shit-the slightest pressure on either side of this damage-protected box and it will switch your location settings, take screenshots, close tabs, ignore calls, and makes my face flush with unquenchable fire. I found out the hard way that it also assigns contact names to wrong numbers and when I got an invite to a burlesque show a few weeks earlier, I thought it was a suggestion for another Gonzo review from JP for US6.
A woman I’ve had a tentative relationship with for a couple of years was on the poster and a featured act for the night. I thought it was very ironic and sometimes I like to boast about the quality of people I hang around and get ahead of myself; I made the mistake of trying to make locker room talk about a time I worked at one of her shows, dancing shirtless behind her booth to attract the wrong kind of attention before being led upstairs (VIP room) and ultimately turned away before I could see what was behind the black curtain. But she was on the poster, wearing black horns she made herself, deep in the forests of Colorado Springs or Ft. Collins or wherever else you can isolate yourself that hasn’t been eternally burnt to a cinder, and I was completely oblivious to the fact it was her on the other end of the text thread and I was hurting her feelings…
I’ve always believed in the Sisters of Fate. I’d been watching The Northman and was a little more than fascinated with the mythology of King Aurdvail, the War Raven, the one good eye of Odin, and the spirit of vengeance. Ghost Rider was one of my favorite comics growing up and now I really, really hate motorcycles if I haven’t already made that clear. I felt horrible and had to ask Newamba if I was a sociopath, to which he pointed out the fact I felt empathy for my actions meant I wasn’t a complete monster.
I still saw myself as an asshole, the seed of revenge, planted by my biological mother so long ago, my bio-dad lost to whatever trail of terror stood between us. I fell back asleep around midnight and the next morning I couldn’t remember if I had taken my pre-scheduled dose of Keppra, but I was very shaky at 10:11 am and tried to catch up; the pill became lodged in my throat when I tried to swallow it down with no water.
I don’t look very hot right now, I said, once again to the stained-glass mirror.
I look kinda gray.
***
Jonathan Penton: Are you seeing a professional about the anger you’re dealing with right now? I don’t mean some bullshit anger management course, I mean a committed therapist who can help you work through the whole thing, and with whom you can privately discuss whether or not psychiatric intervention is appropriate.
JP is an unassuming person but is never shy when it comes to calling out elephants in the room, across the swamp, in disguise and on display.
I live by the myth that my intrusive thoughts can be bent like tuning forks, branches of free therapy, Swamp Thing’s eyes peering through a microscope or even a focal seizure. I move through the lack of breath and pinpoint vision, resuscitated by idol imagery and wanton desire.
Regardless of mounting angst, obviously I’m learning to channel my frustrations into creative endeavors; I'm reminded of a quote from James Baldwin about waking up to the idea of personal suffering being a bridge, in particular context I don't give a fuck to quote at the moment, but I find comfort in the grandiose idea that what ails the human species at its core is something that is not only transferable, palpable as the adjoining agony may be, but it's translatable, to all tongues and perked ears, to eyes that stretch miles beyond and the cold stare of our mutual reflections shining back on us from the horizon…
There’s a serenity to JP’s recent release: A Limited Number of Miracles (a Walk through the New Orleans Sculpture Garden) that convinces me what my life truly lacks is access to extravagant lawnscaping, and with the Denver Botanical Gardens only miles away and possibly drying up at this point, the Rio Grande receding at unprecedented levels, Kentucky being one of the hottest states in the nation, I can’t convey how much I miss my time in New Orleans.
JP’s book, it’s, okay, it’s making me envious with a lit joint in my hand, imagining the busts on display as we walk, ignoring the fact The Judgment Day has taken up 30 minutes of screen time and there was maybe 5 minutes of actual wrestling on Monday Night Raw this week.
It’s a genuine effort to keep up with where I am in this ongoing story…
Add comment