... to live and lie in l.a. ...
“It might be tempting to think that our myths fail us, but more likely, it’s we who fail to live up to our myths. When we stop believing in what we know is false, we lose something true about ourselves.”
-Brian Brems- (reviewing To Live and Die in L.A.)
I’m tired.
I’m tired of being told what to do. Page after page of the internet, tweet after tweet, essay after essay, all filled with people certain they know. This feels good. This makes you better. This is how you do this.
Where is my internet of uncertainty? Where can I go to surround myself with unknowing unknowables and the seekers of seek?
I can’t buy a toothbrush without 200 people telling me what they think of it. I can’t have night terrors without book after book of sleepy solution. What happened to the good old fashioned days where problems were problems, never needing to be solved, just kvetched over a plate of eggs and hash? I want something to yell about, no solve in sight.
A fraud! I’m a fraud, I tell you.
I love solutions. I love knowledge, certainty, and principles. I love knowing that everyone knows what they know. I love understanding, overstated, around a corner, behind alleys, after brunch, before I lay down where once again I’m tired.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of telling you what I think. I’m starting to prefer saying nothing, doing nothing, being nothing and no one. In my silk robe of none I mist a wish and vanish. My mind milks the sky’s cow. I’m udderly useless, asleep in the field, rows of corn pretending to be knock knock jokes.
Knock Knock. Who’s there? Who cares!
I’m tired.
I’m tired of sleeping. Everyday I try, but I can never get it right. Awash in nowhere I leave now here behind. I touch and I see, I’m seen and I’m touched. My blanket is a thankless emotionless crumple. My bed is my body. Sleep is my hobby.
My slumber is a painting, oily greasy running colors. The closer to the canvas the more incomprehensible. The depths contain truths. The truths contain lies. The lies go to sleep and wake up in my eyes.
A fraud! I’m a fraud, I tell you.
I do my own stunts now, making slow motion explosions. All quiet on the set. I make a new word every day. Today the word is “ILKY”. Ilk means “a group of entities that have common characteristics such that they may be grouped together.” Ilky means you are common to commoners, grouped with the groups. I’m on team team, collaborator of collaborators, fellow to fellows. I want to be a part of all parts, a piece of all pieces, at peace with all peace.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of being tired, of trying tired, of typing tired types of tired thoughts. I do even more stunts. How about a new word every minute? I feel shabbolous, full of shab. Wazzulent, a man made of wazz. How about every second? Scochen! Leegen! Florkun! Sklecken! Mouch!
These stunts are terrible. I need a new director. I see through my own act. I’ll make unwords instead. Everything made up makes off with ideas. Maybe I need no words.
Here is a zero word essay called “”.
“”
…By CansaFis Foote…
A fraud! I’m a fraud, I tell you.
I started a fake new(s) organization to figure out the truth. My anchor says go back to bed. No man can stay awake. Go woke and go broke.
Awaken, I’m broken, I’m raking the ocean. All this muck so I might be a schmuck. It’s the immature emotions that grow up. My juvenile delinquency means no offense. There is a bible waiting to be written in fart jokes if we can find a god funny enough.
I’m tired.
I’m tired.
I want to be happy but I am not sure what will happen when I am. My salt is my sugar. I left Hotel California for Motel Montana only to end up at Occupy Oakland. I demand dreams. I’m lost in my thoughts, thinking about losing, finding something to think about. What a loser!
I know I know. I know I should be more clear. I am, a string unfurling, a furling unstrung. My mind is a mistake, it wasn’t meant to mean. It’s nice being nonsense. It’s ok being been.
A fraud! I’m a fraud, I tell you.
Every moment is a dream of another moment. All beliefs held let go at last call. I’m at a loss I want to win. I want you to like this. I know you might not. I want you to know me. I know you might not.
It is called confidence because it is a con. I’m playing brain bunko. I don’t exist on this earth. I lack the gravity for this situation. I’m floating. I’m flippant.
I found heaven and she smells like rose cedar.
I made my algorithm. I swipe left and right. I wipe front to back. Optimism on earth. The hallowed earth, the hollow earth, hello on earth.
Is it ok if I am ok? I ask you (me disguised as you). We wear the same shoes. We sing the same songs. We make the best me.
I’m tired.
Im seeking a reason that anything I know is honest or true.
I can’t let go. We are our own children sitting at the back of the bus, spitballs in our hair, unlistening to ourselves, guilty of gossip, geeks without games.
When I am away, I am temporary.
I’m best when I am here, when I know where I am.
When I am away, I am fleeting.
I’m best when I am here, when I know where I am.
I’m tired of lying. I lie. I sleep.
I’m best when I am here, when I know where I am.
“I watch what I see, and, almost always, I see the seams. I know how they do the tricks. I don’t feel the thrill anymore. I like the old lies better. They felt true.”
-Brian Brems- (reviewing To Live and Die in L.A.)
FOOTENOTES
1) Brian Brem’s review of “To Live and Die in LA” —> https://www.brightwalldarkroom.com/2019/07/08/to-live-and-die-in-la-1985/
2) thanks to for the recommendation to write a movie review
3) Willem Dafoe is so cool
4) thanks to for sharing this story with me —> https://paulocoelhoblog.com/2015/09/04/the-fisherman-and-the-businessman/
Really enjoyed this piece, felt like I was reading thoughts I think to myself on a daily basis. I’m tired of how the internet is too sometimes, always with a solution, telling you what to do. but fear I’m a fraud because I make content, from an objective eye, not too different from the stuff I despise.
Brilliant. I love how you play with words! I hope one day schools full of children will be studying your use of language