FLOUNDERING

"Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? Luke 15:4

"First she sees her hypnotist
When she rushes to her psychiatrist
She sees her acupuncturist
She's got to got to get fixed

Then she sees her scientologist
Gets fed by her nutritionist
She can not seem to resist
Seeking cosmic consciousness.

She's looking for a cure, she doesn't know exactly what for."

I'm done. I've lost interest. I'm soaking wet and have no direction. I'm wandering WAY outside the fold. I'm a personal shopper in the most competitive creative town. I'm losing steam.

Less than stellar writers are showing up published...and in brick and mortar bookstores.

Brilliant Stephen King writes one of his most profound novels, Cujo in a drunken stupor and claims it just showed up in his Apple IIgs hard drive. (80's reference) I need to get drunk.

Friends with no interest in the art are getting blog recognition. I am filling a void, literally a blank white void.

Worrying is rubbing a gaping hole in my innovative mojo.

Grandmothers looking to fill their dead time are getting waivered on Gossip Girl and ushered into Screen Actor's Guild. The horrid show 24 rushes into town and casts dreadful actors to dominate an ENTIRE season. Are you kidding me?

In a town where open mic dives, grungy outstanding comedians, captivating stage actors and unknown righteous musicians rule the school, I am copping out entertaining myself with Food, Food, and more Food. How hard is it to research epicurean delights in Manhattan? That's a given. Which means any kind of down time I possess is used up running my tail off to stay svelte to compete with the 20 year olds who don't even know what a B side is but have a commercial face and ass that Verizon just loves! C'mon I locked myself in my room covered in sweat for hours, flipping my 45's...

My meandering posts are so scattered I couldn't possibly captivate one audience. It is all about me, me, me in NY, NY, NY and well that just isn't relatable. It's narcissistic. I'm stuck. I am not so sure I will stay here. Can't conceive of being anywhere else.

Would Blue Eyes say "making it" was 13 months of sustaining?