Part 2 : The “Caleb” Side

Hey hey,people.  Welcome back.

Thanks for coming to hang out again.

It is a rather nippy (to us) Feb. weekend in the city of Angels. So, instead of joining the other hedonists, I've elected to come be with you instead.

What if I told you I NEVER know what each blog entry will be about until the moment I sit down at my desk- take a sip of coffee-pack a bowl & turn on the soundtrack for that entry. 

(Sure, I had a hint about this one because of how the last one ended,but I never know exactly until after I'm finished.)

The soundtrack you hear in each narrated blog entry is one that has  been playing over & over in my head. For every waking moment until that entry is written,edited & uploaded.

Then POOF:

It stops. My essence is dominated solely by that piece of music, whatever it is.

The only thing that I know for sure is the musical potency within those beats is alchemical perfection.

In fact, the nature of my Muse won't let me hear anything else BUT that song until I've expressed what needs to be expressed.  *Funny thing about artistic processes. They are as varied as the individual Artist themselves.

I am ALWAYS curious about how other artist/creators work. Not in a "Chicks-in-a-bathroom" way, but in an inspiration/appreciation way.

I know, I know. Those words are in a foreign tongue within the hinterland of creative-less reboots,vapid Studio heads & faded Xerox copies of reality.

Despite the flighty reputation,though, Bacchus thrives in this space like no other. That is really what drew someone like me here in the first place.

Maybe you too.

You might have noticed, I couldn't give a shit about your $750K BMW Nazca, complete with personalized license plates with your entire (long-ass) last name on them. 

(Jesus,Jason. Overcompensation much?)

Every short man I've ever known has a Napoleon complex. You thought the ladies had it rough. Imagine your body dysmorphia plus all that testosterone-y macho-social-bullshit all rolled up into one.

Smoke on that before you say "Aww,how cute" or " could fit in my pocket" next time. (I'm 5'11,btw)

No wonder they act like that.

Anywho, Let's get balls-to-the-wall with


The "Celebrity" Side

#1.) The first question you are inevitably going to ask is:

"Who the hell is Jamie Espy?" 

1a.) Fuck you for asking like that from your Ivory Tower when I'm down here WHERE THE REALNESS IS.

1b.) Good question though.

For now, judge me on the feeling you get when my voice embraces your eardrums and slips into your subconscious mind.

For once in your calculating existence, TRUST your GUT. Give yourself permission to hear what I have to say.

It won't be a waste of time. Pinky Swear.

Before I can represent the "Celebrity" side, it is fair for them to want to know who their proxy is & what qualifies them to speak on their behalf. I get that.

More on that soon.

Incubus, Dig, Light Grenades

To attempt to enter into "celebrity" headspace is a treacherous entry, fraught with self-defense mechanisms so deep & ingrained, it is amazing They even see the light of day.  

I promise to handle with care, BUT NOT with kid gloves. I'm not your "Yes man". You don't pay me shit. Even if you did, that wouldn't buy you what you want to hear.

So, don't expect me to suck on your asshole like a big, phat Havana, Capice?

(I'm not that kind of gay😉


Can you even begin to imagine what it must be like to perform your art in front of hundreds of thousands, even millions of people? 

Millions of people all focusing their mind and attention on YOU and everything that is coming out of your mouth (& going in).

Every gesture recorded forever on a multitude of *Iphones,Androids & LGs. Every personal moment caught on tape to the point of absolute lunacy.

From the minute you become conscious each day, it's "do-this and do-that. The #Label has 17 junkets for you to do this morning and you have to meet with your publicist at 3pm. Whoa, your sales figures are dropping in this demographic, Do you think you can start showing a little more #sideboob?" 

The bare truth is that WE will NEVER know what this is like. We can hardly even sympathize.

I realize that doesn't sell magazines but i'm not in the bullshit-selling business. We CAN never know what is required from this career path unless we have chosen it. Chosen you is more accurate.

Think of it as one of the most exclusive & twisted fraternities in all-time history ,with the same initiation rights and membership dues as any collegiate Greek organization.

You have to be selected to join & when you do, you take an oath of affiliation for all eternity. Kinda like that be-zillion year contract of the Sc*&%ntol&*^%sts.

(Huh,@LeahRemini ?

<3 her!)

It is not just silly words on  paper. Once you sign, YOU ARE BOUND ,as above-so below- for the terms specified.

Rarely do you get to break your contract. Leah was smart. When she finally saw it for herself,she could not help but act. Breach works every time.

(Get those fuckers,girl!)

Now that you've been seduced by the power, the fame, the sense luxury- something begins to happen to the insides of that celebrity.

It is so very subtle at first...and then BAMMMM!, they go berserk in the Topanga Westfield.  

Yaaaaaaa'll. That was NOT a publicity stunt. Let me repeat, that was NOT your typical desperate plea for continued relevance that us Los Angelenos see everyday. It was the most desperate cry for-fucking-help I have ever witnessed.


And by witnessed, I mean I WAS THERE, at the mall the day that shit went down. I'll upload my old cellphone video & let you see sometime soon.)

An act of resistence in the only way she could communicate. Her gatekeepers are amongst the most fierce in the business....still.

That interview with her and Diana Sawyer, I believe it was. Where we all witness her do her "strawberry splits" is my case-in-point. 

::Ah,Here it is::

That bitch is fractured into so many cerebral pieces, I'm astounded she can even pull off the Las Vegas stint.

Most of us have absolutely no idea what these folks have to sacrifice in order to advance. We may think we do.

We don't. 


Harvey Weinstein & Quentin Tarantino are but the animalistic tip of that iceberg

(Goddess help you,because Kali Ma has had ENOUGH..Pig.)

Maybe it is global warming, maybe it is the rising estrogen levels in the atmosphere,but that impossible glacier is finally melting & flooding the underlying channels like Mama June on a Slip-N-Slide.


We've only begun to penetrate the initial levels of protection here & there is still so much more to cover.  

The energy is ebbing, so I must depart for now.



P.S. I have no idea how long we will be dwelling on this topic. I only know it will take as long as it takes to express itself fully. Thanks for reading/listening.        J.E.

To Be Continued.

PART III: More of The "Celebrity" Side