Monthly Archives: July 2013

Chaim Witz Files A Complaint

You might think this a no-brainer but my tongue is really tired. I can hardly form a sentence much less enunciate a lyric about how I want to rock and roll a lot, like all night for instance. You people—ladies—take that line way too seriously, seriously. I love rocking out and rolling around, but give me a break. Everything is taken so literally these days. What you’re probably thinking when I sing about wanting to stay up all night long and then wag my tongue for a few bars of deep, body-penetrating bass—I can’t even imagine. Gross.


Back when I wrote the majority of my musical cannon, back when brown and yellow and fake wood were cool and long hair was rad, back when people made love missionary style because the other two styles hadn’t been invented by me yet, back when nobody painted their face or wore studded leather or platform heels until I solicited three super-cute-cool guys I met at the beach to dress up like I had always really wanted to but had felt self-conscious—like BDSM demons, though I specifically asked them to make their costume-identities less masculine and named them Starchild, Catman, Catwoman and me, the Demon—back when my Dad told me I wasn’t from Long Island but was actually born in Israel and that my real name was  Chaim Witz, I started wearing my hair up in a cute little bun, and music started rolling off the pointy tip of my very average-lengthed tongue.


From then on I started getting mail, telegraphs, packages, phone calls, voice messages, voicemails, text messages, texts, emails, comments, tweets and vines from people asking me if I would use my tongue to service their bodies in every disgusting and perverted way you can imagine. You can’t imagine. It has been awful.


What’s worse, people have always confused me with other celebrities: Ozzie Osbourne—obi, Patton Oswalt, The Wizard of Oz, Liza Minnelli, Mario Batali, Pavarotti, Boy George—a close friend, and Muammar Gaddafi. But I’m a Jewish Rock Demon, so that last one doesn’t make sense at all. Ghaddafi was all Country Western. Anyway, I’m about to lose my patience with you people. I’m not servicing any of you anymore. I’m tired of being stereotyped, tired of being used, tired of being profiled, tired of being judged, tired of giving and never taking, tired of being your little toy, tired of doing whatever you say, tired of being scared to say no, no matter who you are or how well I know you or how strong you are or how you make me feel inside.


This isn’t fun anymore. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I have a band and we’re going to be together forever. Forever. Stop taking my lyrics so literally. I don’t want to stay up all night. And I don’t want to rock or roll past 9:30 on a weeknight. I never have. I never will.


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I unlocked the front door and called through the dark, I’m here! The voice that answered belonged to someone I did not expect to be home. I threw my keys on the floor next to my bag and ran up the stairs. In the distance I heard the neighbor’s dog barking himself to sleep. She lay in bed, smiling, looking over the bridge of her glasses.

I thought you were someone else.

Was that George outside? I asked.

She knew nothing and had heard nothing. I grabbed a tuft of her soft hair and pulled her to my lips.

How did you get here so fast?

I don’t know, I said. I’m here, I’m here. I’m here, nowhere else, the only place I could be.

That’s why you’re here?

Yes, I replied, I just told you. Here—right where I should be.

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Morning After

The service is pretty laissez-faire here.

I wouldn’t comment on the servant class.

I’m not trying to make a comment on class.

My book is a class commentary.

I read your book.

Did you like it?

It’s super short, which I like.

I worked on it for five years.

The middle part has a specific ambiguity too it, which I like.

I specified the specifics in the latter chapters.

Your specifics were pretty unspecific.

You can argue specifics without specifying, seriously.

Yeah. These waffles are seriously going on myspace.

waffle instagram

Don’t you have an Instagraham?

Just myspace and AIM.

Tell me more about your book.

I started writing it when I went to Canada to do community service building playgrounds. It’s really a commentary on the socio-economic borders of wealth and the super-rich.

It’s definitely about the super rich.

I should have added some significance toward the end.

Yeah it gets a little insignificant toward the back of the book.


I love writing children’s books.

Yeah, I don’t like that as much.

I love how formulaic the writing process is.

The characters have shallow aspirations.

What do you mean?

It’s not realistic. I  read a lot of non-fiction.

But what are aspirations?

The characters aren’t real to me.

No, what does aspirations mean?

I don’t really know.


Do you even like children?

I almost expected you to ask that.

You talk about how much you love children in your book.

That’s not what it’s about.

You should write something else, maybe.

I want to write something really significant.

Your book was pretty good.

It wasn’t significant though.

No, it wasn’t significant.


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