Jonny Panick’s Bible of Dreams

Where have you been? God, missed you so much! Has it really been almost a year?

Impossible!

Possible. Kiki is returning to Charleston, digging ourselves out of the self-imposed year-long hiatus from the Theatre, instead choosing to have dirty, meaningless affairs with both Corporate and the Barely Corporeal. We have honed the delicate act of “léche-cul” to a high art but tables are meant to be turned, and I, Jonny Panick, am about to get positively Grandmaster Flash on as many of you willing to cram yourselves into the Theater 99 this Spring- and I simply cannot promise that it won’t hurt.

Something old, something new, something borrowed, some blue balls.

Nous vous aimons et nous sommes ennuyé de vous aimons le manque de gelée le beurre d’arachide…

Jonny!

The other day we took the cabaret to a museum. In one part of the building they had modern art, and in the courtyard they had hot dogs, chocolate fondue, and carrots. The event was based on a not-very-well-known movie called “the Rocky Horror Picture Show” that seemed like a really good film. Most of the time the characters were in their underwear. I don’t watch movies because I have a difficult time focusing on what the characters are saying. So I was delighted to find that the movie was being screened with the sound off. They had a drink there called the “Damnit, Janet”. It had vodka and Sprite and some kind of red sauce in it. They also had an ice sculpture at the museum… somehow they had managed to encase the words “Time Warp” into the ice, which was very beautiful. I’m a big fan of modern art and just knew that it was going to be a fantastic event to be a part of.

Everyone was very friendly and promised to come to the next show. I danced with a boy and a girl. Due to the fact that I am always thirsty for drinks made of vodka and Sprite but don’t eat hot dogs, chocolate, fondue, or carrots I found that I could barely remember my name by the end of the evening… thank goodness I have Engel to remind me! Many thanks to the Gibbes Museum of Art for a fantastic evening!

I am terribly sorry about the bleakness of my last post. Sometimes my absinthe-fueled nights make me a tad melancholy. I will try not to embibe and inscribe…

On second thought, that’s a near impossibility! From now I will at least try to mix a little speed into my creative writing cocktail! Which is usually

1 part gin
1 part tequilla
2 parts absinthe
yak blood (just a drop here and there)
dash of bitters
dash of tobasco
… and there you have it! The perfect absinthe bollyslide. Use with Caution! Obviously the results can vary.

I re-discovered the awesome majesty of wearing clothing, today. There is nothing quite like the feeling one can get when putting on a pair of pants, for example, or even something as simple and small as a hat. A hat! Who knew? Fantastic!

Si les chapeaux pourraient avoir des orgasmes, j’aurais le sexe avec eux!

Sometimes I wonder. I wonder, as I anxiously await the newest episode of Lost to download into my iTunes folder, wonder as I slowly but surely burn every piece of whole wheat bread into charred toast, wonder as I begin to doubt the logic of doing that last set of hindu situps… wonder if I am truly as lonely as I actually feel.

Tonight… tonight as I sat in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly, contemplating whether or not I should spend the $3.65 necessary to purchase a pint of Chocolate Chocolate Chip Tofutti, I felt alone. Truly alone. And the feeling was brutal. Violent. Non-descript as a bank robber fleeing the scene of a crime, but swift and cunning as a mustached private detective working for a British billionaire in Hawaii. Ouch. The feeling. I could feel the tears working their way down my face just as clearly as I could see the moths, wriggling out from the wallet in my outstretched hand. I was sad, lonely, and dead broke.
There would be no Tofutti for me tonight. Nor would there be any solace for my cavernous feeling of emptiness. I was alone. I am alone.

When one knows love, when one knows the joy of love, and then loses that love, there remains a cavern in one’s soul. Depending on the quality and the passion of the love lost, the cavern is only that much deeper… the feeling of loss is that much more present. It is a far more difficult to fill this cavern each time with a new love than one would expect… though the end goal, I presume, is to fill it fully, and then some, to continuously excavate into this vault built entirely by the feeling of love, to keep digging further and deeper each time. It takes a very steady hand… it takes time. And I’ve also heard that it takes the right combination of pheromones and attention to one’s fashion sense.
O! How empty. I. Feel. Could I borrow $3.65 from someone?

I find that the most beautiful things come in small packages. Take, for example, cereal. I find that most cereal boxes are quite small. at least when compared to other boxes, such as the larger ones people often use to move their belongings from home to home. once I was able to move all of my worldly belongings using cereal boxes. i was living in freso, san fresco, and after the eviction decided that perhaps the southern united states would be more open and friendly than cold, hard, california. this adventure necessitated a good bit of configuring, though. i’d say that the most difficult task was cutting my grandfather clock down to the point where the pieces would fit in fifty-five empty Froot Loops containers.

people should discover more things during breakfast. breakfast has been declared ‘the most important meal of the day’, and to me that is quite an honor to be bestowed! i discover many interesting things while eating breakfast. just today i found that it was possible to scramble eggs in their own shells. the egg compartmentalization was so conducive to erotic thoughts! like eating two or three separate breakfasts in one. fantastic! i know that in european countries it is popular to ’soft boil’ an egg. similarly, i wonder if it is possible to ’soft core’ an egg. note to self: eggs can be erotic and nutritious.

i am delighted to be sharing my thoughts with those that care to (and are able to, god bless their little hearts!) read. I am a rather lazy person at heart but the idea of writing to a nameless, faceless, oftentimes sinister populace whose general apathy and genocidal tendencies may or may not have brought upon the invention of “kool whip” sends chills down my spine, and i simply cannot resist. je t’aime mais mes dents démangez incontrôlablement– jonny