It’s Saturday night. I’ve already been out and come home. Paulie’s going out to the bar and I’m happy to become One With the Couch. Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
My privacy is important to me. I spent all those years on stage, telling the audience everything, but I chose my subject matter carefully. The distinctions between what I discussed and what I didn’t meant the difference between art and blowing my brains out. So there are people who never figured into my work, such as it is and was. I’ve been thinking a lot about privacy as I open myself up as a person in this blogging experiment. What can go wrong in this age of repression and censorship? Gee, I don’t know. Some low level bureaucrat could decide my articles have crossed some wacky line, and next thing you know, I’m Ethel Rosenberg.
…Not that I think what I say should register on anyone’s radar. Lately, I’ve felt like the Voice Of Reason, which bugs the hell out of me. I’m supposed to be the Voice of No Fucking Reason Whatsoever.
But, y’know, this moment in time is awfully peculiar.