THE TAIL OF THE SELF HATING CHRISTIAN
That hellish night in 1989 should have broken BB and I up. In fact it had the opposite effect. We tried to prove to each other that it was an anomoly and we could work it all out. One of the things i did from my end was start seeing Shewho. I couldn't bring myself to break up with Baby-Baby and once again got involved with a woman with a boyfriend. Only this time i knew the boyfriend, making it that much worse. I rationalized my duplicity with hot Shewho sex and by becoming a more solicitous man on the homefront. Maybe this was the way to go. Of course i was kidding myself. I WAS getting really good at that.
One of the members of the congregation was Izzy Stein, the publisher of PAPER magazine. We had become friends and he asked me to write a column for his mag. PAPER was what I would consider a trendy homosexual fashion rag. They covered club kids shenanigans and the downtown NYC scene in all its vacuousness. It wasn't what i would consider a perfect fit for me, but what the hell? It wasn't like any other magazine publisher was inviting me to write. "Write what you want." Izzy said "Maybe a religious column would be good." This guy was crazier than I thought. The 90's were right on the doorstep. For the next ten years i would write a column called THE HOLY CORNER for PAPER. Here's one. I think you'll recognise the style.
GRUNTING INTO THE FUNKIES
Life in the secular world: Banned from teaching for giving LSD to my students, I'm forced to work with my back not my brain. I'm currently building a spiral staircase in a large building- the stairway to Hell. This, combined with the fact that a certain assoc. editor (Chuck) told me last month's column was too long, too subjective, had nothing to do with religion, and even the proof readers didn't know what the fuck I was talking about, has put me in a funk.
Lets change the name of the rest of the century to the Funkies. Funkie-one, Funkie-two, etc. I think I've seen enough to know what's ahead: bosses. Bosses who pay and bosses who don't; bosses who flatter and cajole, exploit and demean and promise one more day on the site...one more day. The Boss of the Funkies has us by the shorthairs.
Life in the religious world: They've ground up the bones of Junnipera Serra and the Catholic church is selling the macabre relics at $200 a bottle. Cooler than a chunk of the Berlin wall and twice as holy. Cardinal O'Connor has verified the exsistence of the Devil in Ozzy Osborne's music and Elizabeth Clare Prophet and her sect are being evicted from their Montana doomsday caves for inadequate plumbing. If the world ends why would you need a toilet?
The Funkies ain't gonna let up. The boss will tell you who's the Devil, who's a saint and who ain't. Well this ectomorphic, caucasian, self-hating Christian biped carpenter calls bullshit. I've never pretended to be scholorly, objective, or even comprehendible for that matter. The pragmatic development of certain skills implicit to my survival in a self-created hostile environment has severely curbed my cerebral development. My brain will never get big enough to figure out its own existence. The first thing I learned is I'm not alone. The last thing I'll learn is I'm totally alone. So if you want to give me a little advice you'll find me on the spiral stair case, five steps below limbo, one step out of Hell. Funky.
*Reprinted without permission from PAPER magazine.
One of the members of the congregation was Izzy Stein, the publisher of PAPER magazine. We had become friends and he asked me to write a column for his mag. PAPER was what I would consider a trendy homosexual fashion rag. They covered club kids shenanigans and the downtown NYC scene in all its vacuousness. It wasn't what i would consider a perfect fit for me, but what the hell? It wasn't like any other magazine publisher was inviting me to write. "Write what you want." Izzy said "Maybe a religious column would be good." This guy was crazier than I thought. The 90's were right on the doorstep. For the next ten years i would write a column called THE HOLY CORNER for PAPER. Here's one. I think you'll recognise the style.
GRUNTING INTO THE FUNKIES
Life in the secular world: Banned from teaching for giving LSD to my students, I'm forced to work with my back not my brain. I'm currently building a spiral staircase in a large building- the stairway to Hell. This, combined with the fact that a certain assoc. editor (Chuck) told me last month's column was too long, too subjective, had nothing to do with religion, and even the proof readers didn't know what the fuck I was talking about, has put me in a funk.
Lets change the name of the rest of the century to the Funkies. Funkie-one, Funkie-two, etc. I think I've seen enough to know what's ahead: bosses. Bosses who pay and bosses who don't; bosses who flatter and cajole, exploit and demean and promise one more day on the site...one more day. The Boss of the Funkies has us by the shorthairs.
Life in the religious world: They've ground up the bones of Junnipera Serra and the Catholic church is selling the macabre relics at $200 a bottle. Cooler than a chunk of the Berlin wall and twice as holy. Cardinal O'Connor has verified the exsistence of the Devil in Ozzy Osborne's music and Elizabeth Clare Prophet and her sect are being evicted from their Montana doomsday caves for inadequate plumbing. If the world ends why would you need a toilet?
The Funkies ain't gonna let up. The boss will tell you who's the Devil, who's a saint and who ain't. Well this ectomorphic, caucasian, self-hating Christian biped carpenter calls bullshit. I've never pretended to be scholorly, objective, or even comprehendible for that matter. The pragmatic development of certain skills implicit to my survival in a self-created hostile environment has severely curbed my cerebral development. My brain will never get big enough to figure out its own existence. The first thing I learned is I'm not alone. The last thing I'll learn is I'm totally alone. So if you want to give me a little advice you'll find me on the spiral stair case, five steps below limbo, one step out of Hell. Funky.
*Reprinted without permission from PAPER magazine.
posted by mike osterhout at 8:19 AM
1 Comments:
this guy developed his own list for life.
'put it in an obvious place' i always say.
yours,
burnt
ps
i wanted to share with the world, the doings of zappa & was lucky enough to have been boinged.
Post a Comment
<< Home