Regional celebrities are flooding the event, which is a drag
because they don't relax like the A-listers. The minor celebs are always
working, looking over the room for opportunities. One brought along her
regression therapist and she's miming a key experience of a past life.
It's the beheading of Mary Queen of Scots. She's very solemn, then she
screams. Everyone seems to understand.
It's my moment. I have the floor.
Remember the movie, the The Matrix? I say over the PA. Remember
how people were able to instantly download skills and experiences into
their minds? I say.
They became kung-fu masters, helicopter pilots, engineering experts;
all in a matter of minutes, I say.
Skills that normally take years to master were theirs in the blink of
an eye, I say.
Stick with me now, because I’m going to show you how to do exactly that,
I say. I’m going to show you how to imagine meeting a you who is everything
you’ve ever secretly wished you could be, I say.
I’m going to show you that the keys to everything you’ve ever wanted
in life lie hidden in alternate versions of the universe we live in. And
that in these alternate universes mirror images of yourselves are living
out their lives mostly airborne, I say. Then I say, It's a system called
HOPPING 123. WHY 1 2 3? Because there are 1-2-3 stages of hopping.
I start to hop my little butt off. My butt is little—but it’s firm and
Pamela Lee Anderson tells us that she has just got back from Haiti.
She noted many improvements there. The rehoming, the carbon neutrality
of families, the water filters, the new national consciousness. I point
out that this is a ho-hum topic in relation to our present reality. Pam
says she likes to use her image to do good. A lot of people are into that––Tom,
Brad, Angie, George. Which Tom, I ask. Hanks, she says and continues: They
have these high priced images and they're putting them to work to do good
I say, Where are the entertaining narcissistic people who are supposed
to make me laugh with their bigger-than-life antics?
I'm on top of the ladder and I say: right now my heart goes out to Axl
Rose and his family for what they're going through.
I really have no idea what I'm talking about. But what a way to ensoul
Getting back to the Matrix idea, we're starting to download little by
little some very fun and useful skills.
Someone asserts that surfaces condition writing—a piece of paper, a
wall, a screen. We address that thesis. We adopt it as a working axiom.
We have to decide on a surface for my new poem—if it can be considered
a poem and not a lifestyle or a modus vivendi. Someone says—Jackie Chan,
I think—How about can we be considered a surface collectively? (Smart!)
How about the apartment itself? And the Internet—is that too much surface
or not enough? Is there a surface that hasn't been seen yet?