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It’s the third hundred-fucking-fifty degree day in a row here in Los Angeles and I’m completely deranged. I peel myself out of the chair in the office to lay paralyzed down by the pool, over and over like a fucking rat race while Griffith park is slowly burning down and my head is imploding because there’s no oxygen in the air anymore. Coughing cause I can’t catch my breath. It’s pathetic. Thank God I can laugh at myself.

Why is sitting around so exhausting?

I whimpered and limped in to the elevator like a squashed roach and crawled back up to the office to sit in my shitty chair and burn my ass three times already today. Now I’m having delirious jealous day dreams of Narcisa smoking crack in a cold dark cave… Oh to be Narcisa. Without the pipe. That’d be ideal.

I wonder what the fuck Jonathan and Narcisa are doing now. Does she know how lucky she is to be sitting on the back of that motorcycle cruising through Cabo Frio, or Penedo, or Resende or São Paulo, or wherever they may have ended up today on their roadtrip through the jungles of Hell. Atleast that Hell is moving and changing and green.. and alive. This Hell is stagnant. I’m grateful for my writing and editing to keep me busy and my general appreciation of awareness on days like this where I’d normally be shit-housed by 2pm and half-way on my way to being in a total blackout. That kind of shit happens in the summertime. It’s just what people like me do.

But it’s really not bad. I have fun all day doing what I’m doing. And the nights are sublime. They cool down and Candy I can just sit on the balcony of the Man Mansion in Laurel Canyon or at the Cat and the Fiddle and play lazy games of backgammon and collect our thoughts over coffee so I can prepare for the next sleepy haze. My Grandpa’s death has made the last few days a haze.

Yesterday I spent the day dragging myself around and wringing myself out like a wet towel, wiping the sweat off my Blackberry until it was so sweaty and dirty I could taste the salt coming off of it every time I answered it and the trackball got so slimy it just stopped working. Contacting so and so for a review… following up with others for some sign of life. Following up. Following up. There are no signs of life. I feel a great calm in this. I have some peace of mind for a moment. I wonder, does Narcisa have these moments?

It looks like everyone’s checked out this weekend. I don’t blame them.