I love reading obits in papers, since I used to have to write them. Actually got to enjoy doing them! Maybe it’s cos you get to play god, having to briefly as possible sum up someone’s life, which seems absurd.
I’ve had a lot of friends die. In 1990 I went to my last funeral/memorial service. Death is so empty that they become pretty pointless to me. That ritual always seems so severe. When I die, I’d like for friends to eat stuff and have a good piss up. To be remembered in happiness, rather than in grieving.
I’ve always thought that if it takes a person a long time to die, that it must feel like shrinking.
Sometimes I think – used to think it more often 10 years ago – that I wasn’t meant for this time. If it was the 1920’s or the 1930’s I’d have a much easier time. If I could go back to any period – I think I’d start out in 1916 Zurich, Cabaret Voltaire, then Paris for the birth of Surrealism.
More and more I keep thinking that I need to find a way to blow this dump permanently.
When I drive long distances I take a couple of things: the famous Annie Leibowitz photo of Liberace and his ‘chauffeur’ – always put it on the dashboard – like a mascot. And I just found a photo of Nico from 1966 – so she’ll go too.
Sleaze is good, and an important part of travelling.
In 1994 I still wasn’t medicated, and I went through this f***ed up, insane binge of mania. I wasn’t feeling religious but I got obsessed with holy water and kept bringing it home, and after a few days, I had to start going to other churches cos this one priest kept looking at me like I was crazy – which I was. I’d throw it on myself, brush my teeth with it – CRAZY! And I never remember being religious at all – much more related to my superstition. And shortly after that I was medicated! Thankfully!
Actually, the holy water episode might have been when I was taking Prozac for a month and got mania from it. Anyway, funny either way.
I was born with Synesthesia. It’s been there as long as I remember, but have only known about it for the last 8 years or so – that it had a name. People with it seem to have photographic memory in different areas – mine is visual memory. It’s pretty cool. Anything that makes me perceive more is fine with me. [For example, the colour] Black to me feels like standing still – Blue flows and moves.
So often I feel tormented by small things from my past – they nag at me. The most embarrassing moments of my life are etched on my brain. I can see them with such amazing clarity and detail – wonder why that is?
My heart goes out to Obsessives!
The couple of times I tried to kill myself (half-hearted attempts – not counting the time I drank a couple of bottles of bourbon and tried to drown myself in our pool – but that’s another embarrassing story altogether!), I remember I kept thinking about people’s reactions to my death and what they would do, if anything, to mark it.
I don’t want any funeral at all. Nothing. Even beyond the grave I’ll be a Minimalist! I used to want a funeral, when I was younger, with lots of music – and remembering what I wanted – it would have been Wagnerian in the avant-garde sense of the word! Awful! So, if I die before you, you should remember that the only thing I want is for my ashes to be scattered in two places: One third in the Tiber River in Rome, the rest from the tallest hill in Rome, at the Villa Boughese Park. I’ve always had this great mental image of a cloud of ash falling over the city. Always the weirdo. I know if I die before my parents, they’ll be cheap and just flush me, or something.
By the way – having a mother with email really sucks. I try to ignore her as best I can.
Keep forgetting to say that even when my life has been the most shitty, tragedy, f*** ups and all, I have this intense positive attitude which never seems to go away. I’m tremendously positive – in spite of what I may say! Maybe it’s like Bacon once said in an interview, ‘I’m profoundly optimistic about “nothing”.’
I think I get it from my mother. That and way too many RKO and MGM films as a child! Then being a fag on top of that! |
