Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

After MoMA and the DP broke up, they moved to Brooklyn. Ronny was still in their lives, being Jerilynn’s real father & Jerzy’s fake one. Sometimes Jerzy worked on the camera crew like his mother once did, that’s how he got an aptitude, even fantasized about getting into the union. Jerzy went to Baja on a shoot & Ronny fired him for not showing up on the 1st day of principal photography. Those were (the beginning of) the Heroin Years, now he was in the (middle of the?) Tweak Years (still mix ’n matched with H), Jerzy’d always been way into both but now he was super-grateful into the joyful, joyous SLAM Days & GBH/Xanax Nights.

He got loaded in Costa Rica, Belize, BC, Krakow, Colorado, Crete. Detoxed in UK, Rome, Colorado, Crete, Krakow, BC, the Cape. Returned to New York at 28, took all those years just to find his true calling, that of celebrity craphouse creep. A creeperazzo makes his own sked. Creeperazzi are independent contractors . But the very best part of being a Creeperazzo creeper is you have the wherewithal to do R x all day long .

The Master Plan was to fuck with/edit down the Best of the Best of Jerzy’s vanilla creeperazzi & (still to cum) papsmearshots! then assemble them into a gallery show. Oh, that would righteously piss MoMA off! She might never recover from the blow! He’d call the exhibition Jerzy Shores— Harry would love that he used his nickname, he’d give him credit for his cleverness in the catalogue. Jerzy would show his work in LA as Jer-Z or Squeegee or Jeezy , or maybe he’d use all three just to confuse people. He was going to shoot for the top— he wanted to be repped by the Gagosian. He wanted to be the 1st (& last) one on the block to legitimize/commodify/artworld-monetize the moneyshots . Jerzy’d done a bit of late-night tweakstudying about the Gagosian on the web, they had a client that took pics of Lindsay, Sasha Grey, & whomever — made short shitty videos of them too — real dumbass shit — Jerzy thought no way could the guy compete with him. Another Gagosian guy named Richard Prince did paintings of nurses & stenciled jokes that went for millions—& Jerzy was convinced that the reason it went for millions was because the guy was Number Uno , he must have been the 1st to be totally serious about making a nurse-and-stenciled-joke painting — or if somebody else had, then this guy’s paintings of nurses & stenciled jokes were the 1st breakthrough nurse-and-tell-an-actual-joke paintings, that’s all you needed, it was all about breakthrough , maybe the other guys who did that kind of painting — paintings of nurses and whole jokes — maybe the other guys blew it because they used the wrong jokes, knock-knock jokes or whatever with doctors instead of nurses… but Jerzy thought: more power to him, more power to this guy Richard Prince and to Larry Gagosian — Larry Gagosian was King — all he (Jerzy) had to do was have that breakthrough , be the 1st , or the 1st breakthrough anyway, like Jean-Michel Basketcase was with graffiti, or Arbus & her freakshow folk—— no one (so far) (to his knowledge) had thought to hang their altered/fucked with/edited papsmeary vulturazzo creepshots in a major gallery of art (tho it must be said that Jerzy didn’t really do a thorough internet search of it because he didn’t want to come across someone who had already done or was just about to do the very same thing that was his Gagosian Dream) but it was a fairly safe bet that no one had. Certainly none of Jerzy’s esteemed colleagues could in their pathetic minds even come close to imagining such a thing. The collective Smarmy Army brain was unfathomably clueless & ill-developed in the realm of this degree of sophistication. How could any of them even know about or understand the genius and the cultural force Larry Gagosian, who was King?

He’d spent a lot of time in galleries, afterall MoMA made her splashy little sensations when he was just turning 18, right around the time she was ab-/using his baby ½sis who he loved, Jerilynn, whom he always had protected from harm but had failed to against the MoMA machinations. These days mother and son were estranged, but big brother and little sister IM’d, little sis told big bro MoMA was getting desperate, which gave him a kind of wicked pleasure, and while big bro did not tell little sis his Master Plan, little sis did know that big bro was a creeperazzo but big bro distinctly told little sis not to tell MoMA that’s what he did for a living, he didn’t want that bitch anywhere near knowing how he was paying the rent (MoMA did know — just how, he forgot — that her son wasn’t on the East Coast, & was living somewhere in LA), he wanted her to know as little about him as pah-see-blay . What he prayed for was for MoMA to wake up one LA chelsea morning to see that her son’s creepshots! had been declared A R T — she could come to Gagosian’s with everybody else & kiss the ring, the ring of my hem’rrhoided shithole .

. .

Three tweaking tweeters said Michael Douglas was at Sur. With who? he twittered back from his twat. Did not rec was the teetering reply. Did not recognize. Meaning it was probably an agent, manager, lawyer, whoever, though J’s twitshit troops should be able to recog even them .

Re selling Douglas pics to the e-/print tabloids, the demand had leveled off. They still paid okay, nothing like what they did in the six months after the Big C, but the $$$ was still okay, tho the prices had begun to drop the further the actor got in recovery. Still, they paid. The tabloids wanted a stockpile of the actor lookin good because the more shots they had of him lookin good , the bigger would be the fall (for their readers). They knew the fall would come — one way or another. They knew their readers (& non-readers too) were just waiting for a recurrence. How long had it been? A few years already? The actor was already overdue, it was time , he’d been cancerfree long enough, & their readership— public drama demanded a recurrence, only one that wouldn’t be so easy to be licked, Patrick Swayze-style, & one where he wouldn’t be able to keep his hair… public drama demanded a recurrence that maybe ended in a Roger Ebert-style mutilation. Jesus… if Douglas lost the whole lower jaw, whoever got that 1st photo of Catherine OBE holding a stained scarf over the missing bottom of his face — Jesus, that was probably worth $5 mill.

. . . . . Jerzy got another tweet from one of his twats saying Mary Murphy was there, at a different table. Jerzy never saw So You Think You Can Dance but knew that her thyroid cancer had supposedly been successfully ZAPPED. . . . . Jerzy still held to his personal axiom that whenever a celeb declared themselves cancer-free, the devil woke from his nap——

Sur, on Robertson. .

Big Sur, yessur .

Creeperazzi crowding & papsmearing the sidewalk.

“Paparazzi”—dumb word from another era, La Dolce Vita word, era of Cinemascopic glamour and arclights strafing Hollywood premiere nights, era of MGM oldschool grandeur/oldschool restraint (era before the internet), era before they sawed off Zsa Zsa’s feet, era before Liz became a rouged-up, roughed-up canteloupehead, era before a stoned nurse tamped his cock into Mickey Rooney’s cracklipped hundred-year-old mouth for webcam kicks. Reagan was still chopping wood for chrissake. . but time & TMZ wait for no man… & they’re very young, these jeepers-creepersazzi Jerzy uses — they’re, like, lone wolves with ADD, tense & smelly & fuckin crazy, with their SUPREME t-shirts, $500 hightops & threadbare vintage American Apparel——now, one of em who’s standing in front of Sur sees something — someone deliberately stepping out of a car down the street, seemingly to avoid the—— RachelBilson RachelWeisz RachelMcAdams? LisaEdelstein LisaRinna LisaD’Amato? RyanGosling RyanReynolds RyanSheckler? AshleeSimpson (AshleeWentz) AshleyGreene AshleyTisdale Ashley——?— & one of the lone wolf creepers tears across the street, sweaty relay runner solitaire , infernal Olympiad….