Big Bear, Love Pink: Faster Spinningcat, kill! kill!

"What happened to you? Your mom made you big bear."

Those words spoken from my Slovakian friend still haunt me since she picked my up from the airport after the Christmas holiday. And the nickname Big Bear was forever granted with the gift of life.

Big Bear on roller coaster. Big Bear in car. Aye-yiyiyiyiyi! Okay, so I got a little lazy. I think all writers do to a certain degree. Self-realization's a bitch sometimes. Big Bear is becoming little bear now--

I have shifted focus to the wanton desire of working out the heart & mind by way of the most insane exercise known to civilization. Burning an unprecedented 1,000 calories inside of 35 minutes and being able to clear the space between my ears----

"Christ Jack, stay on rhythm." The world's greatest spinning instructor shouts this morning.

I was off. A little bit I might say. I'm going to blame it on the girl in front of me, inches from me, filling my mind with impure thoughts...and her ass. If Pacino were in there, he would've probably commented her on it. It was great. A truly great ass. I simply cannot get that girl's ass out of my mind. Think what you want, but the fact is that along with her ass burning an image in my mind, the letters stenciled across the couture covering her lovely ass spelled this:

LOVE PINK

But her pants were grey. WTF? Am I missing something? Please, if you're so inclined, spell it out for me as if I'm six. I just don't get it. Actually, I'm realizing that I don't understand many things in life or Hollywood High for that matter. I think an actress in rehab said it best to me once...discussing Hollywood life, rehab and work...she said that making films was her day job, Hollywood was her life and producers were her parents. Trying to fit in and do her best while the multitude of cliques, plastic sticks, and social ticks are daunting.

But in the end, does any of it make sense? Love Pink has set the new standard for my life's design and poses the unique thought of who really gives a fuck? I used to. Not anymore.

Going back to this concept of being on Dr. Steve-O's new reality show...as I enter the final stage and this week I go in for my physical to make sure all is good within Half-Bear...Anxiety has subsided and all I can think about are a couple books from my past:

Modesty Blaise and In Search of Lost Time.

First off regarding Modesty, the pulpish story has always been a gem in my mind due to the other worldly female within the narrative. And the fact that Vincent Vega took the book into the bathroom to read just before being whacked. In Search of because I believe it complements my life right now. Proust's epic has been heraled the best piece of fiction...My thoughts...it's the bestest of all times. Over 3,ooo pages of verbage to drown in, you will be thanking me in a couple months. Unless you become inspired to change the world and end up in the looney bin.

Time is of the essence. And it is running out. People seem to gravitate towards me with similar depth, creativity and spontanaeity within themselves. Once in a while, the idea of being 'lost' in life comes up amidst a heartfelt conversation, but stepping out of the bubble of limited perception, I see an organized chaos. There is a plan. Have faith. Do what you do and do it from the mother fucking heart. Everything else will fall into place.