The World Can Devour Itself

"You should have a show on cable! There's depth in what you do. Many people can learn and get positive messages from your writing! That kind of material create hit shows! Whether it is reality or fiction. You need to get a treatment to those production companies creating for cable stations. You have nothing to lose. Shit, I'm not that fluid to create from my experience like you do. My stuff reads like bullshit, but people love bullshit, so I'm still trying. Man, there's an agent who will love to help you make that money as they get their 40%."



Yeah, show on Cable. One of my fans actually likes me. Depth? Me? Awww C'mon! I was never much of anything, but all of my life, since I was 11 or 12, I wanted to be a writer. I knew I did; And then I got distracted by the Apollo moon missions and airplanes and computers, but in time, in time, I came back around to my first love. Writing. But writing is such a crock of shit now. There was a time when all you needed was a good idea and to show it to the right people and if they liked it, you were on your way. But now? Not so. It's all about connections my dear friends. Either you know this guy, who knows this gal, who's sleeping with this dude, whose mother, is the sister, of the cousin, of a third uncle, related to your father. What kind of bullshit is that?



Further, if you ever go to a Duane Reade or Wallmart or Target and look at their book section you'll notice how many books have blazoned on their covers that the book OR the author is on the New York Times Bestseller List. It's as if you don't have this seal of aproval, people will not pick up your book because everybody knows that the New York Times is only for intelligent people. If you buy a book that's on their bestseller list, it's a great book, and you'll be perceived as intelligent if you're caught flipping through the pages, because you know that girl is checking you out, and your ass can't read.



But have you noticed that shit? Let me tell you what these books are really saying. A book that reads: "A New York Times Bestseller" is talking about the author. And when it says, "A New York Times Bestselling Author," is also talking about the author. It's just the first one makes you believe that they are talking about the book. If you look in the book, and if it's still in it's first printing, then it's talking about the author. If it's in it's second printing, it's probably talking about the book. Check it out. When a book is published, the New York Times reviews it, or so they say. Personally, I believe those walking love handles just take a bit of bread under the table and then stamps it as a bestseller. Like the Better Business Bureau does businesses. It's not a stamp of approval, it a stamp meaning that you can afford using the BBB labels on your shit.



But the NYT wants you to believe that while the book is hot off the press and on the bookstore shelves that they somehow KNOW that it's going to be a bestseller. Do you believe that? Do you know how many books are published a day? Scores. And now how can they therefore predict when a book is going to be a bestseller. They can't. But if the author has a record of being a bestseller, they can hedge the truth a little bit by saying that this book is a bestseller. What they are really talking about is the author.



So, how can you have that label? Because once it says that, then these satellite bookstores like the Airline shops in the airport, the local drug store, variety stores, or whatever, will have it on their little wire stands. I know. I have to come up with the cash or I can kiss their ass. I don't have a book that has been published because it's doubtful that it will become a New York Times Bestseller. And it won't become a New York Times Bestseller if it's not published. Catch 22 again, right?



So, what about all of my childhood dreams of becoming an author. Not even a famous one, just one that could pay his bills every once in awhile and go to some Publisher's Soirees and  meet someone like Busy Phillips and make babies. That would be cool, no? But no, not for me. I'm here sitting in front of my computer, working on a screenplay that may not do a damn thing. I'm avidly searching for a publisher now with my writer's market. Soon, hopefully I'll have my shit out of the room. That's the plan. Try to keep my writing OUT OF THE ROOM and in a publisher's office. Probably in their slush pile, but definitely not here.



I haven't been exercising, neither walking. It's getting cold in the city. Fall leaves are building up on the ground, the winds are stiff and damn near constant. Summer is dying, dying hard, but dying. I'm really enjoying my New-found energy, conquering one problem after the other, cleaning one thing after the other, staying far ahead of my adversaries, even though Thanksgiving slowed me down somewhat, it didn't stop me. I don't feel that anything can stop me now. Grandiose thoughts, the hallmark of Bi-polar Disorder. The Superman Complex, the me without Kryptonite.





But honestly, I'm beginning to feel the drag of the Wellbutrin. A cold, creeping dread that threatens to slow me down, shut me down, wear me down. I figured that it was coming. It's sole purpose is to cut the edge off my manic period until it falls again. That's why I'm going to need ANOTHER mood stabilizer. Oh, joy. I sit here now, crouched over my keyboard, typing in the dark, wearing a single shift and staring at a glowing screen.



So, here I am doing what I do best, dream of a brighter future. With little Tinkerbells flying around my head. I have a bad feeling that things will not get better, but substantially worse. Very worse, not just for me, but for all of us. The world, the entire world, will not be spared. Not even North and South Korea. No one. We will fall into a worldwide anarchy and fight each other on barren plains and empty highways like Mel Gibson in the Road Warrior. Sad, but true. But guess what? Didn't I tell you that I was Invincible?



I will be the Road Warrior. Trust me, I'm made to survive anything.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/11/world-can-devour-itself.html
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