2002-08-02 4:55 p.m.
Gooooooooat Boooooooy

I'm finding I have two types of inspiration in this life:

the types that I'll always have, recurring themes and mediums and ideas that evolve with me;

and the types that I simply need to get out of my system, either by developing, or by simply doing.

These are of the latter variety.

I lived in Athens for a long summer, sweating and smiling, writing and humming, meeting chill people, intimidating a few with my energy level, and so on.

I wrote comics with D (and probably will continue to do so, given the time and mutual inclination), shooting ourselves up with the smack of our combined creative energy, rushing at it like wire-fighting martial artists shot at 60fps, and kicking the shit out of our ideas until they're bruised, bloody, missing teeth, and very very good.

For the past few days, an idea's been tickling the back of my mind...or rather, a ghost.

It's not the first ghost poking me for attention...I've got three in my play who lie in wait, until I write them out of their situation and off into the great beyond.

No, it's someone altogether different, a stand-up comic who died in 1994. Like so many other possessed people, I'm going to help him have his last say, weigh in on his life (as best I can express it), and reflect on the insanity of today, as I'm sure he would be if he weren't busy being Goat Boy, the rock'n'roll lord of Heaven, seducer of sweet, pixieish angels.

More on this as it develops, as many of my ideas tend to vaporize upon serious thought, but this one's both like a mosquito bite and a good soft massage...it's got me itching, wiggling in my seat and wanting to do more.