My friend Dickbag McNuttsack got me the job at G/M Steakhouse. He told people the hilarious story about how I was in a rape lineup in 1984. I guess that he told everyone that the lineup cleared me, that they asked the victim that a guy jumped down my street and tried to rape, if I at all resembled this guy after she failed to point me out in the photo lineup, and she said no, it was not me. I guess that I came across as weird to the people at G/M, and people can get pretty hysterical about rape, and so, Myrna.
All the time this stuff was going on with these women, I was trying to apply to grad school. I had to beef up my painting portfolio, because it was pretty thin. I had to get teachers to recommend me for schools. I had to find out which schools I wanted to apply to. I had to get my portfolio in slide form, and other things I can't think of.
The horrible experience I had with Tarashula, a fellow art student during the Summer of 1988 in my last classes, where she basically shit on me the day before my last class of my undergrad career at UT, made me pretty ambivalent about going back to art school for a graduate degree. On my letters of intent about what I wanted to accomplish in the grad programs, I wrote down these hand-scribbled rants about how I wanted to be the Pope of my own church. I wrote about how rich people couldn't just pay pocket change for my art, but that they had to perform acts of penance, such as a Donald Trump would have to wash a lineup of homeless people's feet with his hair- that kind of thing.
In the blog post, "I'm not bad," I talk about how I attempted to turn my back on love with Sara. In recent years I've decided that the only criticism I have with that approach is that I didn't take it far enough. The harshness of my romantic environment as evidenced by my dealings with Tarshula and Myrna indicate to me these days that I should have just kept it up after I cut Sara loose.
All that time I was trying to get it together to go to grad school, I had to deal with these fucking ghouls that just wanted to eat my heart. School of Visual Arts in New York City had just a half page for my statement of intent, and I had been rejected by every other program that I'd applied to up until then, so I just wrote a few sentences about the Pope stuff, and they admitted me.
I'm trying to sell books as well as make them, and I have to concentrate on executing plays from my playbook once more. That means; hand out flyers on Red River, practice guitar, write songs, and try to play out at open mikes. I hope to try to get gigs later on as I get a set's worth of songs down. I did an open mike last night (Monday) and New World Deli on Guadalupe. I was happy with it.
I've decided to cut back sharply on places I go that employ attractive young or youngish women. For the past couple of weeks I've fixed almost every breakfast for myself and made all of my own lattes with my stove top espresso maker. I was running out of money way before I should have, so that was the first reason. The second reason was that I began to sense that one of these women in one of these places might have been starting in on me, so I decided not to go there anymore. I also decided to not go other places that weren't a necessary business for me to patronize. I hope to drastically cut down on the number of these women that I have to deal with by doing so, and so in turn cut down on the number of women who want to start shit with me for no reason.