I've sold out.
There's this point in one's journey where I actually need to eat. I've been here in LA for about a year now. What have I accomplished? Not much. I am barely making it with my massage business. I have less friends in the year that I have been here that in 6 months in SF.
Fuck.
So I'm selling out. In a sense.
I put on a monkey suit today. And I don't feel bad about this. I am surviving. I am doing what needs to be done. But it feels so wrong in a sense.
I can hear you saying, jeez, get with it.
And you're right. I am getting with it...I've accepted a family friend's offer to become a suit. A mortgage loan originator. It's very generous of him.
I am now on the 20th floor of a building in downtown LA. Sweet huh...but that means...I put on a suit everyday. I push paper. I enslave people to loans and take part of their money as a profit.
Is it morally wrong for me, a semi-socialist, to be part of a capitalist mortgage system?!? Perhaps not. Not when it comes down to feeding my fucking self, right?
Plus this means taking a mortgage licensing exam...which is like studying for finals, for 10 days straight. I have 88 pages to read by tomorrow...and job training at 9am tomorrow too.
Fuck. Me. In.The.Ass.
With big purple dildo.
The filth that comes out of my mouth when I'm tired, god fucking knows what's up.
In other news - happyness goes out of me - I officially love halloween. Not because of slutty costumes (yes i love them too) but because of these guys:
www.sneakynietzche.com - they put the BEST performance art show!!! Fucking awesomeness. masquerade-meets-fake band-with-KILLER-music. A singer that sings INTO THE BARREL OF A GUN (where she hid a microphone)? yes please.
I went there the other day with a fuckbuddy-turned-friend (don't you love them), and she was so awesome. Gel blood that slowly bled and bled and bled. She was a porcelain doll crying blood.
Perfectly beautiful for that night.
We drove into this abandoned street in the fashion district - you could see the yellow lights, the closed warehouses, and that was it. No one was around. Freaky.
Then, a huge crowd - it was already 30 minutes past doors opening time, and they were STILL not letting people in.
We park. Down two shots of coke and rum. She does my makeup to complete my vampire with a cape look. We realize then, we're GOING TO A MASQUERADE....why do we need makeup.
The line is full of people in abstract costumes - a 80's hair rocker stands next to a rollerderby girl. Police cars drive by, scoping us out.
A lady shouts at us to sign a photo release paper on the typical brown clipboard. I sign my name while my facial skin already starts to burn from cheap makeup. The night can't be going any better.
We start to descend a staircase (into an underworld, the ad said)..and no shit. The warehouse really is underground. A masked man kisses the hands of all that come in, and broken old-fashioned dolls hug candles along the staircase.
Confused slightly, we head for the bar. Turns out they're sold out of their homemade beer. I reach for my friend, as dancers make their way through the crowd towards the stage. One stops by in red hot pants and a flowered leather hat to compliment my friend's bloody, dripping eyes. He mimes his appreciation as he flits through bodies.
it's the momentary glances and smiles that sometimes make the most of being in a crowd of strangers.
then on stage, 'she' sings.
Apparently, she's about 25. According to the Brand X article, she's just graduated from art school. The production team and her spent a year putting this together - 4 performances, with a band that's only to exist for that month. And this, thank god, is their last night - I'm sure they're tired. But the music waltzes on, as her voice, akin to Lady Gaga, moans into the mike.
"Love make me crazy..." she says while the band carries a mournful, beautiful tune. And the darkened warehouse hugs me in it's atmophere. The Victorian-Emo-Goth feel of this place somehow all just works.
I'm enthralled. (if you can't tell, cause i'm writing about this at 12:30 am while i should be studying fucking mortgages.)
I need to get back into music. I want to go to events, raves, performances. I WANT A FUCKING SOCIAL LIFE.
All of which takes both time and money.
Which is why I sold out. I can't be a proud pauper and expect to help or change anyone for the better.
Oh! and for some more awesome music, check this out:
Jeremy Sole - Natural Self Remix
or this:
Beats Antique
okay back to studying....what's that? subprime loans? damn...
There's this point in one's journey where I actually need to eat. I've been here in LA for about a year now. What have I accomplished? Not much. I am barely making it with my massage business. I have less friends in the year that I have been here that in 6 months in SF.
Fuck.
So I'm selling out. In a sense.
I put on a monkey suit today. And I don't feel bad about this. I am surviving. I am doing what needs to be done. But it feels so wrong in a sense.
I can hear you saying, jeez, get with it.
And you're right. I am getting with it...I've accepted a family friend's offer to become a suit. A mortgage loan originator. It's very generous of him.
I am now on the 20th floor of a building in downtown LA. Sweet huh...but that means...I put on a suit everyday. I push paper. I enslave people to loans and take part of their money as a profit.
Is it morally wrong for me, a semi-socialist, to be part of a capitalist mortgage system?!? Perhaps not. Not when it comes down to feeding my fucking self, right?
Plus this means taking a mortgage licensing exam...which is like studying for finals, for 10 days straight. I have 88 pages to read by tomorrow...and job training at 9am tomorrow too.
Fuck. Me. In.The.Ass.
With big purple dildo.
The filth that comes out of my mouth when I'm tired, god fucking knows what's up.
In other news - happyness goes out of me - I officially love halloween. Not because of slutty costumes (yes i love them too) but because of these guys:
www.sneakynietzche.com - they put the BEST performance art show!!! Fucking awesomeness. masquerade-meets-fake band-with-KILLER-music. A singer that sings INTO THE BARREL OF A GUN (where she hid a microphone)? yes please.
I went there the other day with a fuckbuddy-turned-friend (don't you love them), and she was so awesome. Gel blood that slowly bled and bled and bled. She was a porcelain doll crying blood.
Perfectly beautiful for that night.
We drove into this abandoned street in the fashion district - you could see the yellow lights, the closed warehouses, and that was it. No one was around. Freaky.
Then, a huge crowd - it was already 30 minutes past doors opening time, and they were STILL not letting people in.
We park. Down two shots of coke and rum. She does my makeup to complete my vampire with a cape look. We realize then, we're GOING TO A MASQUERADE....why do we need makeup.
The line is full of people in abstract costumes - a 80's hair rocker stands next to a rollerderby girl. Police cars drive by, scoping us out.
A lady shouts at us to sign a photo release paper on the typical brown clipboard. I sign my name while my facial skin already starts to burn from cheap makeup. The night can't be going any better.
We start to descend a staircase (into an underworld, the ad said)..and no shit. The warehouse really is underground. A masked man kisses the hands of all that come in, and broken old-fashioned dolls hug candles along the staircase.
Confused slightly, we head for the bar. Turns out they're sold out of their homemade beer. I reach for my friend, as dancers make their way through the crowd towards the stage. One stops by in red hot pants and a flowered leather hat to compliment my friend's bloody, dripping eyes. He mimes his appreciation as he flits through bodies.
it's the momentary glances and smiles that sometimes make the most of being in a crowd of strangers.
then on stage, 'she' sings.
Apparently, she's about 25. According to the Brand X article, she's just graduated from art school. The production team and her spent a year putting this together - 4 performances, with a band that's only to exist for that month. And this, thank god, is their last night - I'm sure they're tired. But the music waltzes on, as her voice, akin to Lady Gaga, moans into the mike.
"Love make me crazy..." she says while the band carries a mournful, beautiful tune. And the darkened warehouse hugs me in it's atmophere. The Victorian-Emo-Goth feel of this place somehow all just works.
I'm enthralled. (if you can't tell, cause i'm writing about this at 12:30 am while i should be studying fucking mortgages.)
I need to get back into music. I want to go to events, raves, performances. I WANT A FUCKING SOCIAL LIFE.
All of which takes both time and money.
Which is why I sold out. I can't be a proud pauper and expect to help or change anyone for the better.
Oh! and for some more awesome music, check this out:
Jeremy Sole - Natural Self Remix
or this:
Beats Antique
okay back to studying....what's that? subprime loans? damn...
Its more of the principle. I am staying true to myself, but it's...just...not as "consciousness-raising" as MT can be...i mean, how am i making the world a better place? Sure, I'm helping someone save money..it's so corporate and boring. lol.
Nah, I'm glad to have it...it's just the nor cal, hippie side of me bitching