Jackson Pollock Number 8

Creative Minds: The Necessary Perfection of Mistakes

I can’t remember exactly what trigger the realization I’d made such a colossal mistake, all I know is it hit me suddenly and it was unpleasant. I was on a hike a couple of days ago and my mind was enjoying itself for a change by leapfrogging playfully from topic to topic. Perhaps I was reviewing the piece I wrote the other day about breaking up with your friends, or maybe I was thinking about the principles of Sufism that I discussed in the article. Whatever led up to it, it suddenly dawned on me—no, it was more like a flood beam

Taylor Kitsch Shirtless

The Effect Of Gamma Gays on Man‑In‑The‑Moon Movie Stars


I usually put the Schizo of the Week at the end of my Friday roundup, but I keep getting bombarded with trade news about how Hollywood Gheys still don’t feel comfortable coming out of the closet, a topic that has been spearheaded by Rupert Everett’s lament on the BBC a couple of weeks ago about how being out has destroyed his career.  I have known (which is distinct from being friends with) Rupert since he was in Another Country, so I can say with some amount of assurance that he is delusional, and therefore a classic narcissist, which finally explains why I’ve always thought he was such a frickin’ weirdo.

Just to reiterate—in case you haven’t read every word of every post I’ve written the past year—when I say narcissist I don’t just mean someone who is vain and has a healthy amount of confidence (like me).  I mean someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, who suffers from the delusion that he is something more than he is, or even more delightfully thinks he is someone else entirely, like Napoleon or Jesus Christ.  In Rupert’s case, he thinks he’s a leading man who could have passed as straight had he never admitted he prefers cock to vag.

I, Monster – The Sequel (Me, Again)


by James Killough

In light of certain recent spectacular celebrity re-falls, I thought I would waffle on again about narcissism.  I’m saying ‘re-fall,’ but what is the opposite of a comeback, anyway?  Can’t be a go-forward, sounds too positive.  ‘Relapse’ presumes some sort of addiction or cancer or some other pathological illness, but I guess in the case of Donald Trump it has indeed been a relapse.  In terms of how beleaguered he is in the pubic eye, what has happened in the past week is akin to his bankruptcy twenty years ago.  Except this time the banking crooks on Wall Street won’t step in to refinance his image and allow him another comeback.  No doubt he’ll engineer that himself: much as we would like him put out to pasture, I fear the old warhorse unfortunately has some irksome neighing yet to do.

Let me recap where we are with this for readers who were not around during the week I spanked Galliano and then followed it up with a post about narcissism, and who might fear having to wade back and read through reams of dense, convoluted Killough prose:

I, Monster

I check my look in the mirror I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face. — Bruce Springsteen, Dancing in the Dark [caption id="attachment_746" align="alignright" width="237" caption="The caption for this photo on the site I poached it from said, "Springsteen made it acceptable for men to wear bandanas around their heads." ...