Beside Myself, A memoir by Kevin Sessums

Is one of the chapters titled 'That time I needed to get fucked RIGHT NOW'

Chapter 3: My Pusshy is Irredeemably Messhy Chapter 4: Grift If You Get My Drift

Dispatches from Smalltown WhereverthefuckIcanpulloffagrift

I hope it includes a recipe for olive oil and cat hair cake!

7 words. Such progress

This pilgrim is moving....Onward, gratitude, the bright light, that opera moved me to tears, did I tell you my parents died when I was a kid? I don't mention it much. Baristas love me. I'm best pals with Malin+Goetz and keep going into their stores for photo ops and hopefully freebies. Deeply grateful for Pret egg boxes. Yes I'm press now give me my free ticket. I call Trump 'The Tacky Know Nothing Fascist Vulgarian' in my Facebook posts aren't I hilarious!

Why won't Tina or Graydon return my calls? Probably all those rentboys I put on the VF credit card back in the day.

We should do dinner sometime (you'll treat me to it right?).

Oh and don't forget to my substack 'Ses/sums it up' it's my latest grift since the ludicrously named 'Sessums Magazine' grift ran it's course. Consider subscribing and help fund my Airbnb and pret boiled eggs.

Possible chapter title:

Oil cake crumbs: a pilgrim pays it forward

Pets I have abandoned

Is it me, or does it smell like boiled eggs in here?

Thrifting tips for pilgrims

The London coffee house in the 21st century, a guide to the best places for loitering and keeping a sharp eye on toilet comings and goings

Your guide to how to pretend to be an actual journalist and get free press tickets to top West End shows.

I will be beside myself with glee when the Sesshie Pilgriftmage descends upon Paris in the Spring and he finds himself devoid of every last nickel and dime and has to seriously put in actual work into his grift. Especially in a place where he doesn't speak the lingo.

How to use a razor safely to build your photo collection at the local public library.

SESSHIE is telling absurd stories about Barbara Walter’s whispering “We could take over the world” in his ears.

Lying, grifting, delusional faggotry at its zenith.

R11 hahahaha lord. Two deluded cunts

OMFG the man is such a name-dropping clown.

She never fails to amuse, does she? And she'll never grow up.

But why should she dtart growing up now? shes almost 70 and still grifts. She still finds suckers to con.

Boasting about Paul Smith sneakers while not having a tooth in his head thanks to meth. Really has his priorities right.

Beshide Myshelf by Kevin Shessumsh

My Messhy Pusshy in London Town

Grifters gotta grift - a memoir by Kevin Sessums

His first memoir (2008) was ranked in 213,427th place in overall book sales on Amazon, and placed 8507th among memoirs

His second memoir (2015) was ranked in 624,516th place in overall boom sales on Amazon, and placed 21,749th among memoirs.

I'm guessing that memoir number three will be a hard sell to publishers given the precipitous drop in sales and a mixed bag of reader reviews -- the glowing recovery/positive affirmation set vs. the reviewers who seemed actually to have read the book and made reference to the tiredness and thinness of the material. But maybe his public yearns for Tales of the Pilgrimage, of the smell of Pret-a-manger salmon and hard-boiled egg bowls, redecorating tips for one's spartan digs (with landlady's permission, of course), and finding a new audience for old oil cake crumbs among the young barista set, the Smart Young Things of 2023.

Maybe he can start a Go Fund Me campaign for a self-publishing venture of his newest "memoir" and get his idiot followers and "friends" to buy it.

Blanche has been to see the London production of Streetcar THREE TIMES. Newsflash Sesshie, Paul Mescal is not going to fuck you. I hope he has at least paid for one of those three tickets.

GRIFT ALERT 🚨🚨🚨

God how I hate being an addled old man.

I have lost the pair of AirPods I bought when I got here because I left the other new pair I bought in the NY apartment where I stayed before flying over. I saw them in a Marks & Spencer bag today where I was surprised I had dropped them when I was unloading groceries in the kitchen and thought I had taken them out to put back on the shelf in my room but they were not there tonight. I had later tossed the bag with some garbage in it on Kilburn High Road. I even went back to that trash can on the street just now late at night to see if the bag were still in there but they had emptied the can of the earlier trash.

I have looked everywhere for them tonight in the house.

They're gone.

I have to have them because on my to-do list tomorrow was "transcribe Tovah Feldshuh interview" for my Substack column. Moreover, I have to have them because I can't disturb my roommate, Pan, when I am watching Netflix as I go to sleep at night across the hallway from him. I have to have them to be considerate.

I have a few hundred dollars coming in from a couple of magazine stories I did before leaving Hudson. Some of that will now go to buying a second generation pair at the Apple Store on Regent Street since they are only 129 quid compared to 169 quid for third generation - I just looked it up. And I'll skip a few more meals I wasn't going to skip in order to square unexpectedly spending the money with my budget. I only had that pair for two fucking months. Ugh. I hate being addled like this. I hate it. I have been so careful with my glasses and then something like this happens.

Damn.

I think it upsets me so much because I have purposefully - even mindfully - given up almost everything I owned in order to live this life I'm living now so that the things I still have I really want or need - and certainly cherish. Another lesson: the difference between losing things on purpose and losing things one didn't know one was going to lose. Purposefully vs. fatefully.

I was weaned on loss when I was a child so maybe in some small way I keep losing things like glasses and AirPods to repeat the curdled comfort that was ingrained in me as that little orphaned sissy; it is what I know. And in a larger sense I purposefully gave up almost everything in my life to set off on this pilgrimage in my latter life in order to mourn them because mourning is also what I know.

Loss and losing shit - the themes of my life. LOL.

At least I'm trying to laugh about it.

It's just a pair of AirPods. It's just a pair of AirPods. It's just a pair of AirPods. No big deal. That will be my mantra as I try to fall asleep tonight with the volume on my computer turned down low.

No donations or offers of purchases so far. Some people telling him in the comments to just use normal earphones "i have nowhere to plug them in i need AirPods", followed by people saying "ehhh any Bluetooth headphone will connect". Silence. An inconvenient truth methinks.

Quid? He's using quid now? Oh please f off Sesshie

He's an idiot. He's a couple mistakes and emergencies away from being on the street.

Meanwhile the rest of us toil to make a secure living. Even past retirement age, if necessary. To be able to handle what LIFE THROWS AT US. Without grifting and begging and complaining.

PATHETIC GARBAGE PERSON

I mean, on one hand he's a luddite. He refuses to grasp the tech he's using so he to bores us to fucking death with his little Facebook posts and "Sess It Up" nonsense. Imagine not understanding that you can use any cheap-ass blue tooth headphones with your MacBook or use a lightning to 3.5m dongle to attached wired earbuds. The gentleman is a dope. I could solve this problem for him with like sixteen dollars and I'm sorry I'm not converting that to quids. He is the lamest fucking human being on Earth, innit?

God people are so fucking dumb

It seems he uses "lol" whenever he knows he's 1.) being an asshole, or 2.) begging for more attention, more £.

(In other words, all the fucking time )

[quote]followed by people saying "ehhh any Bluetooth headphone will connect". Silence.

LOL.

Yes, R29. It would be great if someone responded DL style, "Clearly you're not made of money. Just buy cheap Bluetooth pods and be done with it."

If he's such an addled old man maybe he should just fast forwad and check himself into a nursing home already.

Having AirPods in your late 60s shouldn't be a priority. Especially since he has no teeth. Is he using again?

Forgoing meals for AirPods - that one really takes the (olive oil cat hair) cake.

Alms! Alms! For a miserable woman. On a miserable chilly morning...

So much for my New Year's resolution to stay out of these KS threads. But those Briticisms that are now coyly creeping into his repertoire are too much to bear alone. "The cinema ticket is only 10 quid here." Lordy lorks!

Everything Infects!

Cor blimey!

R34 DoomLA I live for your Sesshie takes

Sesshie killed Lisa Marie!

Sesshie is about as London as Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

How many quid can I grift this month?

Jesus Christ did anyone see the monstrous omelette that he's calling 'Egg Pizza'. Yuck. The farts from his messhy pusshy after that will be disgusting.

He put two posts up on FB about seeing messages in the refracted light of a bookshop door.

Using again. Clearly.

This twat keeps giving pronouncements about theatrical performances. Bitch, no one wants a pull-quote from Sesshie.

"Bitch, no one wants a pull-quote from Sesshie."

No, one does NOT!

Remind me what his source of income is.

R45 the odd freelance magazine article and his 'Substack' column. And grifting of course.

That doesn't seem enough income to do nothing in a foreign country. Or to "retire".

He has no income.

He has said he gets Social Security and Medicaid (useful only when in the U.S.) He's also alluded to health insurance costs, though maybe they stopped when he became Medicaid eligible, and to some whopping phone bills since he moved to London which reflects his own stupidity - a U.S. SIM and a UK account with free roaming in Europe would cost him very little - if he needs to make many or long U.S. calls not via WhatsApp or online for some reason

He sold all his belongings. So probably about $10k maybe a little more. But still, it beats me how he is affording all this. And he still has the Paris leg of the pilgrimage to go.

The stupid fuck can’t figure out computers, iphones, whatsapp, nuthin. He calls it being old and “addled.” Hell, my grandma is better with tech….

[quote]He sold all his belongings. So probably about $10k maybe a little more. But still, it beats me how he is affording all this. And he still has the Paris leg of the pilgrimage to go.

I had thought he was consigning things to Stair Galleries auction in Hudson, but rereading his FB post of late October, it implies he only consulted them for estimates.

The AirBnB is very cheap, £35 or so a night regular rate, so maybe a long-term stay discount as well. He wrote something about his lodgings being half the cost of those he had in that shitty "loft" in Hudson.

Of course he doesn't have his $40K salary from a NY politician these days, but his housing costs are not great (and why was he paying so much for that hole in Hudson?)

Is the National Health Service supplying his HIV meds? He's poz, no?

R53 err no, he's still on a tourist visa basically. Not like he'd get a visa to actually live there as he....has no job. His substack isn't exactly that much of a money spinner. God help him if he actually gets sick over there. The NHS would charge him for all and every bit of care he would get.

I'm not sure that's true R54. I'm not up to date. But 15 years ago I researched it for an ex who is poz and several European countries just gave treatment to anyone, including undocumented residents. At that time. Including UK. Things may have changed.

R55 correct. HIV treatment is free to anyone in the UK even if they're just visiting. That said if he ever got sick for any other reason he'd most likely have to pay unless it was for accident and emergency treatment?

I don't even know if Sessums is poz. Was just wondering. I wouldn't go anywhere at his age with no money and no home and medical safety net to easily return to. What he is doing is a game for youth, not an old man.

Hey, I'm young at heart!

R57 He's not only poz but "amazing" because of it.

He gives a lot back to the world, however, so it's no wonder that he's able to scrape by using crumbs thrown by hapless strangers. It means so much to me that he rips up books to thumbtack them to his host woman's wall, stinks up the kitchen with smelly veggie-and-pasta concoctions, buys mystery meals and boiled-egg lunches at Pret, muses and mulls over trivialities as he walks through the London fog, culturally appropriates Britspeak after a couple of weeks sponging off all and sundry, stalks Malin+Goetz staffers (#ytho), and attends the theeeatahhhhhh -- some shows at least three times -- because he lives for ahhht.

Who else would do that for me/us/the world?

In a nutshell: Substack. Nutsack. Nutcrack. Thumbtack!

Parodies no longer apply. One simply cannot top this tripe.

"Small-town London. Floral Street. Was walking out of Paul Smith. Had a 50 quid credit from Christmas and found a 100 quid scarf I had my eye on for 50% off. Feeling on-sale frisky, I spotted a young man with a Pentax around his neck taking photos of his younger siblings. “You’re a real photographer,” I told him. “Would you take my photo here on one of my favorite streets?” I loved seeing his face light up when I purposefully and mindfully described him that way in front of his siblings whose faces registered even more joy that their brother was being “seen” and recognized as what he longed to be seen and recognized as. I handed him my iPhone and the three younger ones gathered around him to look through my iPhone as well as he photographed me. These are two of the dozen shots he took. As I departed, I told his siblings, “He is not only a real photographer; he is also kind. Be nice to him.” And then my eyes again met the young photographer’s and he recognized in mine that I had once needed to be seen as well and in that moment we saw each other. Until that moment I had been thinking of today as own-it Sunday. But that young man taking photos of his siblings with his Pentax gave me the gift of turning the day into owning it in a new way: having been seen by those who saw me the way I saw myself when I was a young man with artistic longing I spotted this young man longing to be seen in such a way. He looked at me through my camera. I looked back at him though my life. Pay it forward. Even the narcissistic impulse can be transformed into a nurturing one if kindness is acknowledged as the deeper one. I will always remember these three brothers and their sister."

Pay it forward.

Run the opposite direction when someone uses these words to describe himself.

Seems mean to give someone a 50 pound gift card to Paul Stewart.

"...and as we stood there in the bracing mist on Floral Street, the young man recognized something soul-deep inside me that was yearning to get out... our eyes locked, he asks, "did you just fart?"

Sesshie seems to be a compulsive shopper. Save your shillings, Sessh, no one cares about your outfits.

[quote]Even the narcissistic impulse can be transformed into a nurturing one if kindness is acknowledged as the deeper one.

This is an unbearable sentence. The person who wrote it needs many, many slaps.

r57 really nailed it. I wish KS would read that.

[quote]I wouldn't go anywhere at his age with no money and no home and medical safety net to easily return to. What he is doing is a game for youth, not an old man.

Not to argue that the man is a fool and foolhardy in his priorities, but where exactly is his home? I think his physician(?) brother in Mississippi has backed out of financial support in the past though he may well help in small ways. He doesn't seem especially close to his siblings. He's burned a lot of bridges, professionally without a doubt. Those he claims as his remaining friends are likely friends smart enough to keep a safe distance. There's no evidence of his name-dropped friends rushing to set him up in a guest house or house sitting the summer house over the winter, that sort of thing. His ties to NYC and to a lesser extent San Francisco and let's throw in Provincetown are burnt, so he ended up in Hudson in a too large, ugly 'loft apartment' which seemed so affordable compared to Manhattan rents but was apparently a stretch of his meagre income and 2x what he says he pays now to call an AirBnB home.

Social Security is his income and whatever crumbs and free eyeglass frames he picks up from his Substack and social media grift. Last year's $40,000 'salary' for a fake job from a politician friend is gone, his employment prospects blown, his friendships and family ties tested and tentative where they exist still, where exactly is his 'home.' Does he belong in Mississippi? NYC? Hudson? San Francisco?

His income would say he belongs in some tiny backwater town you've never heard of where a cheap apartment is genuinely cheap and food and utilities and overall cost of living very low. But he labors under the idea that he's a valuable member to society with his musings on Theatre and Culture and day old boiled egg and salmon bowls; he is a great contributor, or so he thinks, a patron of the arts.

The man is nothing but a bag of faults, but on one point he's not too far wrong. London, Paris, Hudson, Gdansk, or Oil City, Pennsylvania, or Forest, Mississippi, none of these seem any more his home than another. The point about a medical safety net is an important one. He'll likely be tied to going back to the U.S. a couple times a year to refill his medications. In a medical emergency, he could get certainly receive service from the NHS in the UK or from national health services in EU countries, the cost of which would probably not approach the deductable amount in the U.S. He's so hopeless at navigating everyday life or so much as a Pret egg bowl that any medical need or emergency is going to be a huge ordeal for him, wherever he is in the world.

In short, he doesn't really have a home or much of a safety net beyond Medicaid/Medicare. It's not as though he left a cozy nest for adventure and danger.

Nailed it.

He did get a section 8 apartment in Hudson but he didn’t move in because he had a sudden burst of employment and could continue paying the rent on his “loft”

Totally stupid move on his part …but his whole life seems to be comprised of stupid moves.

Wow, R69--you're right. Turning down a section 8 apartment was a VERY STUPID move on his part. What a fucking idiot.

Yeah but he thought he could get a Section 8 apartment and still go on his 'cultural pilgrimage' to London and Paris for half of the year.

It's both laughable and nauseating at R60 how Sesshie turns a favor he was asking of a total stranger (having his picture taken) into a favor he was bestowing upon the poor stranger, andthen wrangling the whole sibling's of the hapless stranger into it. Sessums isn't just a fool and a grifter, he's a sociopath as well.

*and then wrangling the siblings of the hapless stranger

Fixed!

It’s like cutting open a shark to watch it devour itself.

What happened to the original message? Does the strike-through mean the original poster is a troll? Is a troll posting all the Kevin S. threads?

Dunno R75 but Muriel usually nukes these threads before long.

Inside these threads are people with bullshit detectors. It’s comforting. I hate to see them grayed out or zapped.

Small-town London. Fawning over the terrible musical Allegiance. Shut up, Sesshie!

[quote]What happened to the original message? Does the strike-through mean the original poster is a troll? Is a troll posting all the Kevin S. threads?

Mine doesn't show up like that. But then again, I have my DL settings on 'asbestos eyeballs'

Same R79, though the OP did appear for a couple days as struck-through. The Asbestos Eyeballs setting sometimes goes off when I have to login anew -- not predictably from my experience, but rarely.

R72 It's just so beyond grotesque and self-aware. That he somehow sees fit to parlay his obnoxious demand that some hapless passerby snap his ugly, toothless mug into an act of some kind of gilded, benevolent, and gilded deity. That said guy, who did him a favor by snapping his pic, was somehow transported into an elevated realm because this toothless old coot somehow appealed to his inner artistic aspirations by allowing him to snap his Flat-Stanley-esque mugshot for SOCIAL MEDIA. And the entire sibling entourage practically melted from the proximity to the blinding solar powers of this icon.

Err... No, bitch. You accosted a stranger with the pathetic request to snap your stupid photo, and transformed it into an act of glorified beneficence.

This is why he's reviled, and why he should be. Were it not for his posse of frothing Facebook hausfrau followers, he'd have nothing. Which, to be fair, he already has.

DoomLA outshines themselves yet again

Sweet Fucking Christ on a Firmament, what is this asshole on about now?

[quote]Began the day yesterday with the steely stoic blue light of a gloriously sunny London winter day as I walked to the Kilburn Park tube station and ended it with the blue infusion of magical light from the Lilac Fairy in the Royal Ballet's The Sleeping Beauty on the Royal Opera House stage as I sat here in the Stall Circle and marveled at more perceived blue light from the corps de petites lampes arranged in a kind of choreographed firmament rising in its encirclement of the house. Yet I didn't feel encircled as in battle or behind a fortress to protect myself from one, but instead blessed, freed from battle, grateful. I once thought of grace as a kind of fortress to protect me even from myself but I have come to realize grace has no battle plan because there is no longer any battle.

Using. Again.

In love with the sound of his (written) voice.

I don't think he can afford to use, r84.

It's just word salad. A "gloriously sunny London winter day" will not be notable for its "steely stoic blue light". Etc etc. Also the name dropping of what show what theatre what seat, over and over, is a caprice for a young man from the provinces, not a lonely beat down penniless has been addict. Sad.

[quote]...I have come to realize grace has no battle plan...

FUCKING MARY ON METH!

Grace has no battle plan, and Miss Sessums has no plan, period. She's just bobbing and weaving on a sea of "grace" and griftng it forward.

Dear Sesshie,

Keep my name out your mouth.

-Grace

Now this, from fox news:

Small-town London. I was told a fox felt at home in our back yard. This morning as I opened the shutters we finally had a conversation as I asked if this were my spirit animal. “How arrogant,” the fox said, not shocked at all at the words having been spoken. “Sweet really more than arrogant, I guess. Fallibly lovely - which is finally all one can wish for in a human. Alas, you are my spirit human. Let us now embark on a pilgrimage of losing the alas from that sentence. Let us lose alas from both our lives lived now as sole parallel ones in soulful solidarity in our solitude. I noticed you wrote the term The Sacred Incongruity yesterday. That was the incantation. That was your call to me. You have elevated your human self from one who hunts to one who searches. All the answers are old ones; all the questions from henceforth are new. Let us begin anew this age-old pilgrimage. The ancients await us. I see we have wakened Pan - your roommate downstairs and The One Who Is Giving Me Voice. Do not flaunt the flautist. Be the tune.” The fox began to walk away, then turned back to look at me. “Onward,” the fox said, and smiled. I saw my shameful teeth in the fox’s shamanistic smile. I listened for the Pan down below downstairs to stir and start the human day with a wondrous morning piss.

R91 I thought for sure that this was a most excellent parody. Reverse peristalsis is underway. I'm going to vomit everything I've ever eaten in my life. It's really getting more heinously revolting by the day.

PS: "I saw my shameful teeth in the fox’s shamanistic smile." WHAT teeth?

I saw my shamefully messhy pusshy reflected in the fox’s eyes.

Now this fox business is beyond the pale.

Kevin, you are a wretched writer!

Has no one told him to clean the crud off his phone camera lens? At least once for every time it falls on the grubby floor of a public convenience? And the grubby eyeglasses, too.

Truth is, all those visions of refracted light photographed in triplicate are not messages from a higher power, just splatters of cottaging crud on a phone camera lens.

Too Good To Go Pret boxes grace-laced with cottaging crud.

Whoa Mama R91 that is one heap of garbage

This nasty-ass, decaying Chia pet of a grotesque joke is now "weeping" at the cinema. As the kids say, I can't.

How many times does he go into those Malin+Goetz stores? Super skechy, hope they do a stock take after his visits.

It is creepy, R99. With all of London to explore, he can't seem to get enough of stopping in to tell the sales clerks,that "You know, I know the owners..." for the twenty-umpteenth time.

A tube of moisturizer is £50, but how much is it worth to instruct a 22-year-old shop clerk that you think you used to be somebody? (Surely about 50 quid? I think I'll just slip this into the pocket of my latest thrifting find!)

Wait until she has to return to the states--to where exactly? Unless she tries for UK residency.

Why he's summering in Santa Fe, R101, at a tiny house (a former potting shed from the looks of it.) He announced his social season on FB in November.

[quote]I have booked this tiny house on the property of my airbnb host in Santa Fe for the months of May and June. Sure ain't London or Paris - but that's the whole point and good fodder for my next book about this change in my life. It's about 200 square feet I think. Tub next to the bed. Toilet curtained off. Kitchen I can use is the one outside. There is a dog. And there are children, I think (not pictured). And there are koi. And there are chickens.

How very quaint.

R102 Ô, such exhilarating poesy! And put me on the waiting list for that next tome posthaste, if moving to a closet-sized shack next to the shitter of a NM airbnb will provide the "fodder" for his next regurgitation of navel scrapings. Will the proximity to the wafting fecal fumes titillate those ancient glands? Will he be able to get FUCKED RIGHT NOW? Will he commune with cocky (!) coyotes (most of the convo being from the perceptively adulatory animal's perspective, natch)? Eager readers and FB fans are ready to gobble it up!

I mourn the inevitable deletion of these precious threads like a death.

Take screenshots of your favorite posts for posterity, R104. Btw, your posts are hilarious--as are many of the posts on these Sesshie threads. They make Datalounge. It's a shame Muriel doesn't recognize that.

DoomLA I screenshot your posts and reread them because they make me howl so much. I actually spotted Sesshie in Smalltown London today, in Shepherds Bush which is a bit of a skeevy area, although his usual abode of Kilburn is a dump too he just happens to reside in a posh part. I ran into a shop before he could see me as he knows me from New York in a previous life.

Baked one of the oil cakes today. They're still on the go. Foxhair not cat hair. Upmarket.

She said she's working on making more of a grift out of her Substack and to 'give less of it away on Facebook'

I for one am bereft.

R105 Sesshie got something on Miss Muriel

Oh I shouldn't think so, R108, to to hold something over another person, one needs first to have acquired that something, some wedge of advantage.

The usual way of doing that is through listening and observing, and Sesshie had no facility for either.

Sesshie is preoccupied with talking about himself. And grace. And stoic blue light. He has no time to observe anything useful about someone else.

I once met him and he was EXACTLY as R109 said. He talked almost non-stop in an almost manic way....about himself. Not interested one iota in anyone else. And they sent this guy to do the star profiles for Vanity Fair? Never met someone so full of their own importance.

Warren Street is jubilant over Sesshie’s departure!

Good god, R106! You narrowly escaped being trapped in a post. I wonder what kind of musings you would have inspired in his ongoing self fest. I love that you had to dart into a shop to vanish. I wonder how often that happens in when the Sesh slithers into view, desperate last-ditch attempts to avoid becoming yet another hapless victim forced to smile and pose. Imagine being a Malin+Goetz employee in Small Town London these days. I don't envy any of them -- like fish in a barrel.

R109 A perfect encapsulation.

Small-town Arsehole.

The silliest, most pretentious arse-hole on either side of the pond.

Of course he posted a picture of himself today with Paul Mescal. His rictus smile in the pic looking even creepier than usual.

"His rictus smile"

A perfect description for the expression this old gargoyle preternaturally has affixed on his face, R116.

R116 should suggest "My Rictus Smile" as a better, not to mention more accurate, title for his next volume of memoirs.

Beats the pants off "Beside Myself."

Grifting, sponging bitch was KICKED OUT! And she ain't happy about it!

WHAAAT? I'm going to shop from @maison_bertaux even though I lack anything resembling a sweet tooth (hell, at least I HAVE teeth, bitches!). I'm not sure what's more shocking -- that she actually ADMITTED it -- or that I am so mean-spirited that I actually jumped in my seat. Small Town London will not live down this affront. #wheeeeeeeeeeeeee! (Think Liesl at the end of "Sixteen Going on Seventeen"!

"Small-town London. Hadn’t been here to @maison_bertaux in a while. They do have delicious pastries. And I love its old-school charm. Went in to work on my next column but after an hour I was - well - run off and asked to leave since there seems to be a computer time limit. I was even asked if I were finished with my half eaten pastry. I realize the place is a tourist haven and they need to make money by keeping the flow of customers coming through. But when I was invited to leave I left behind three empty tables. I won’t be back. Makes me sad. I’ll miss it. But god knows they don’t need my business. It did make me realize I am no longer a tourist. Lol. Grateful for that. Onward .."

... Here's the parenthesis I failed to close : )

Beside Myself

Because no one wants to sit next to my stank, messy ass

We'll be just fine, thank you very much.

You set me up, thinking he'd been thrown out of his AIRBB.

Not just yet, R123.

He turns it into a brag. Heh heh, I’m no tourist.

Oh dear. Reminds me of that song, ironically, "The Streets of London". Perhaps Sesshie could do The Streets of Small-town London.

"in an all night cafe at a quarter past eleven Same old man sitting there on his own Looking at the world Over the rim of his teacup Each tea last an hour Then he wanders home alone"

Pathetic.

But the café were right. A £4 cake for half a day's WiFi? Go away Sesshie and your meth breath.

R125 I'm dying!

I do love that he was compelled to add the following typo: "It did make me realize I am no longer a tourist. Lol. Grateful for that. Onward."

When what he clearly intended to convey was: "It did drive home the point that I am a grifter, a loser, a sponge, a nobody, and a hopeless has-been who is completely devoid of clout, prestige, of recognition. Downward. Ho!"

Haha R128 DoomLA strikes again. Would that there were like a DoomLA translator for all his FB posts.

R128 Oh, the temptation is painful, but I'm such a chickenshit. I dread the night when, loaded up on martinis, I succumb. In the meantime, you go head! I'll be applauding from the sidelines!

.... And by R128 I mean R129.

... And by "head" I mean "ahead." Oh... whom do I have to blow around here for an edit function?

Lives in an Air BnB for two months. Yeah you are still a tourist Sesshie. Even if you just frequent thrift stores and Malin+Goetz concessions, and the theeeahtah.

Imagine posting something so utterly self-revealing and pathetic. I think there must be a small core of well-heeled folks who treat him as the poor, sad, old cousin who's had his "problems."

Also, he's an unrepentent narcissist, grifter and self-delusional old meth head.

The Facebook comments responding to that Maison Bertaux are hilarious, and worth a read. He must have particularly enjoyed the one that included: "I would guess many of your followers who are older women are accustomed to being asked to move along: If we aren't viewed as desperately un-cool in some retail establishments and restaurants, we are nearly invis

B-b-b-bbbbut.... It means he's NOT A TOURIST! He's a LONDONER and a PILGRIM!

^ *invisible

Sorry about the whole, you know, thing with the cafe. Next time tell them "Do not flaunt the flautist. Be the tune."

If nothing else, it will confuse them for a few minutes.

Move it along, toots.

I don't blame him for getting out of that pretentious shit hole Hudson, where financially he was at the cellar level of the pecking order among anyone he would deem to be in his orbit. This winter's folie des grandeurs makes for good snarking but I want MORE drama then being ushered out of a cafe for nibbling a pasty for hours.

How can he not understand that a cafe, having to pay central London rates, wants to discourage people from sitting with laptop and nursing a cup of coffee for over an hour? And attempting to use social media to bully them for politely asking him to move along is just mean.

Because he *thinks* that mentioning Maison Bertauxin his social media posts justifies his sitting there all day.

DELUSIONAL and MESSHY.

If I see one more pic of Mrs. Magoo proudly posing in that military-style women's coat with his legs planted ten miles apart I'm booking a flight to Small Town London just to bitch-slap that smirk off her face.

The the DL G Fund Me page and Make-a-Wish Foundation are heartily behind your scheme, R142.

$/£/€

R142 ha I literally logged into FB and saw the pic of her at some film screening and she looks dreadful. Those ridiculous glasses that she grifted look like something he got in a kid's grab bag. I came immediately here because I was wondering if anyone had already seen it and BINGO DoomLA you've spotted it!

What is going on with the weird stance and the rigor mortis grimace on his Gollum like face? And she's been wearing them jeans for days. Filthy bitch.

Does he think he looks like Foucault or Jean Paul Sartre?

R145 you must be joking

R145 No; as he has actually had the tiny outrageous balls to type out and post, he believes that he looks like a young Yul Brynner or Rudolf Nureyev. But I'm sure his inner landscape is totally Foucault/Sartre-esque, among other luminaries, who would certainly include Francis Bacon, Oscar Wilde, Walt Whitman, and Joe Orton.

Why is he STILL getting press seats?

The latest grift column. "I used to be somebody".

Consider subscribing. 🤮

R147 his messhy pusshy is like Foucault's after the fisting rooms.

Let me be your human bracelet

The whining post he made about his 'column'

"My latest SES/SUMS IT UP column is now up at Substack. I've been working on it for the last few days. Even with this busy day today of a matinee in the West End and a Human Rights Watch screening of a film this evening at the Barbican, I got up early to put in a few hours and then sat at the Barbican for another hour before the screening working on it then came home and wrote for another hour before making myself the omelette I'm about to make. All that is to say, I hope those of you who are reading these for free will consider at some point this year supporting the writing of these column for only $5 a month or $50 a year. It is my only job right now. Writing isn't work? LOL. Try it. I have been keeping these columns for the last few months open to all - free subscribers and paid alike - in the hopes that those of you who like the work will consider supporting it. I am still hopeful you will. Click on the link below to read this latest one. And thank you. Truly."

And of course the first Frau to comment said "You're still a somebody!".

Tell that to Maison Bertaux!

R152 -- his description of a "busy day" is enough to have me vomiting out all my myelin sheaths and the remainder of my innards. I say we DLers all gather at Maison Bertaux (they won't kick us out when we clarify our mission) to figure out pertinent next steps. This, he, the grift, must be stopped. I've never felt so healthy about putting so much (cyber)energy into a mission of revulsion! It's positively life-affirming, and I spew all my gratitude toward the other denizens in these threads who share the abhorrence, with a special genuflection to the saint who launched these essential KS posts. And persevered.

Kevin, there's always small-town Kyiv!

I think he really is to be pitied. It must get very lonely in spite of all his showboating and name dropping to realise that he spends his days alone, with no real friends to name of, having his photo taken with shop assistants as that's how pathetic he is, there is no one of any meaning or substance in his life so he latches onto any stranger he can, though he can be selective in his 'selfies' they're usually a third his age. Writing his shitty columns that nobody reads and grifting press tickets to shows that he mostly attends alone. Yeah yeah you're moved to tears blah blah blah. You're still there on your own even if you do try and latch onto whatever poor stranger happens to sit beside you. This time of year really must hit home to him just how far he's fallen. If he'd only played the game right and not lost it on meth he could have still been pushing out mediocre celeb pieces for a decent publication instead of betting for $5 a month off people.

Pity the grifter.

From "I used to be somebody"

"Writing about celebrities for so many years, I had become, according to The New York Times, nothing but one myself. I had turned to writing books in the first place in order to stop utilizing my talent to make somebodies out of other people by codifying their fame and framing it from the proximity of paragraphs constructed from the construct of the kind of colloquy I would describe to friends at the time as “instant intimacy as performance art.”

Whatever the fuck any of that actually means...

Grifter Arsehole Poseur Juilliard dropout Messhy

" I love it when the first lily blooms in the new bunch I’ve bought myself. I have been buying myself flowers long before Miley Cyrus stirringly sang about it. "

See how he just made Miley's hit song all about him? And vaguely implies it was all his idea?

Sesshie is on the cutting edge of every trend. And I'm glad to know he's buying for fresh flowers for himself along with the Pret dumpster packs. But it all evens out because he no longer needs a line item in his tight little budget for Maison Bertaux pastries. Everything connects.

Yes, the market for writers is far worse than it was in the 1990s, but it is still possible to make money from freelance work -- not a lot, but a bit -- and he has a ton of connections and amazing clips. He could pick up some easy income in no time, but it would mean accepting some harsh realities. Vanity publishing stuff on Substack is just a way of putting a pretty shade over a naked bulb.

Submitted without comment.

"It was announced recently that Richard E. Grant is going to host the BAFTA Awards here in London next month. Anybody know how I can get a ticket? [...]"

A grifter every minute of the day.

R160 should have posted the rest of it where he went on to yap about how connected he is to Richard E Grant ie spoke to him at a party and sat beside him on a plane

The idea that he has grown...no, he's the same narcissistic, lying, self-delusional grifter he's been since his twenties.

Thank you for staying the fuck away.

This asshole is weeping and wailing over the death of Justin Vivian Bond’s mother. Oh, fuck off, Sesshie.

“Oh, JVB, i am deeply sorry and shocked. I actually gasped before I teared up. I know how much you all loved her. And she knew that too. I am sending you so much love from London.”

I actually gasped.

Even in trying to be sincere, he fails. A normal person expressing condolences would stop at “so much love” but he has to add “from London” to burnish his own credentials. .

“From London, where I grift theatre tix as ‘press’ and coerce strangers into taking snapshots of my messhy pusshy.”

I've always gotten the sense that JVB knows what's up with him and keeps him at arm's length.

R169. I just barely know the name of JVB and nothing more, but sense exactly what you describe from many, even most of KS's descriptions of running into this person or that.

Even through his eyes and words, KS leaves the impression that many of these chance encounters can't slip away fast enough. The "dear friend" or old colleague or former subject of an "interview" no doubt slams down an expresso and begs to hurry off to some pressing engagement. Left alone as so many times before, KS pulls out his laptop and cradle his large coffee mug and pastry (to which his encounter treated him) while he mulls over how it all connects and all reflects on how this slippery disgusting bald weasel thinks that he was once someone.

Definitely, R169.

"Small-town Bath. My new Bath buddies yesterday - Fran and Zeke - were in the middle of the mound in the middle of the trees - as good a description as any of how I have come to understand this world imbued by Light - when I was there too at the center of the Circus (another description that fits). They were showing me that if one spoke or clapped in the spot where we had all arrived at the same moment a parallelism could be heard. Some call it an echo. But I think they were emissaries from a parallel realty letting me in on a secret: I am too. They didn’t tell me that but the echo of them whispered it to me when they left. What is writing but the second sounding, a way to parallel the parallelism?"

That x 30,000 = "Beside Myself" 🙄

^^^ Gott im parallelen Himmel.

“parallel realty”?

I thought they were gonna be called Franny and Zooey

“Spoke or clapped.” Clap? Do I have the clap?

He's a regular Rula Lenska for Alberto VO5!

Small town Galaxy. Sesshie's in the Matrix. A veritable Dr. Who episode unfolds before our very eyes. Onwards.

They do need to revive those just for him, r177: "Friends are here from the mound in the middle of the trees, imbued by light, and I'm going to show them London ..."

Rula Lenska is doing a national tour of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. I don't recall KS scoring tickets for the show when it was in London last, but surely he can make time to see it, either on tour or when it lands finally in the West End?

And Hayley Mills, too.

Do go. Put it on your pilgrimage. And tell us how you laughed and cried and were moved, shaken to your very core.

The asshole walked round Bath with a bag from a Paul Smith store. Someone on his FB asked him what he bought and he said it was a change of clothes for tomorrow. So rather than just put it in a rucksack like anyone else he put it in a Paul Smith shop bag. What a pretentious old fuck.

That just about sums him up R181, the pretence of a luxurious life but behind it all its just a change of clothes for tomorrow.

If I see one more fucking post about the blue fucking light.

There must be DLers who know Peter Staley... What's he like? He was Kevin's one big romance. Staley came over so well in that documentary, so that reflect well on KS:

R184: Without doubt, he is a very different sort of person. He's smart and has accomplished real things in his life; he's able, as they say, to read a room; you can have a conversation with him and not feel condescended to, or the wrong kind of filthy from having rubbed up against the haughty smarm of a KS.

As for what the two of them have in common, PS is something of a fame-makes-right starfucker. or dropping names like crazy. He doesn't mind adoration nor does he mind taking whole credit for things that he had a mere hand in. He has touchstone stories he tells about his own life. And of course they were both meth addicts. I'm sure PS is smart enough to keep KS just close enough to be able to minimize the embarrassment KS causes or could cause. Different sorts of fame whores, but they have that in common.

I really need to stop doing this, and I will. But it's so beyond the pale that.... Poor Lottie probably went home and scoured her body and soul with lye. Read at your peril:

Small-town Bath. I asked Lottie, the person assigned to my table at The Bath Bun this afternoon, if the tree outside had a name that townspeople called it. She told me the name of this tree I earlier called The Great Mother here in the center of Abbey Green, having been planted there as a plane sapling in 1793, is known as The Hanging Tree because that was what it was used for. “That is about what humans did. The tree didn’t do it,” I told her, feeling deeply and instinctually and spiritually offended by labeling the tree with humanity’s need for retribution and revenge and the vulgar low violent performativity of punishment. “I’m going to call it The Hugging Tree,” I told her, calming myself. After I paid my bill, I went outside and asked a kind woman to photograph me doing just that. I wanted to document the ritual. “Let me get over here and take the second one from this angle,” I heard her say as I continued, eyes closed, with my hug, more really a melding. “There is something going on between the two of you,” she said, but there was no jokiness to her observation. I heard the waver of wonder in her voice. “I have to try and capture this,” she said. When I opened my eyes, I thanked her for her kindness and she was looking at me with what seemed like newly opened ones, too. That first hug I felt compelled to give The Great Mother was for all of us who have lost ours, our own mothers. I grew up in a town called Forest in Mississippi. My mother died of esophageal cancer in that Forest when she was 33 and I was 8. My life has been rooted in loss and enchantment and narrative and grief. This tree’s life has been too. We both left Forests behind to live our assigned solitary lives. I had no idea when I arrived in Bath yesterday that the last thing that would happen there as I was leaving in the final hour after two days of walking and walking and walking and acknowledging the wondrous light would be this, this moment, this hug. I have been on a pilgrimage to find this moment since my mother died. I know that profoundly. Now let the rest of my life’s pilgrimage begin. I feel that profoundly too. Onward …

At least Peter was cute, a college graduate and held a normal job. Touching anecdote here.

“I’m going to call it The Hugging Tree,” I told her, calming myself." MARY!!!

"I heard the waver of wonder in her voice." 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Did he try to fuck the tree?

R187 "Never Silent," Peter Staley's biography, has gotten great reviews.

Peter Staley obviously has taste/judgment lapse, including:

drug addiction seroconversion Sesshie

[quote]After I paid my bill, I went outside and asked a kind woman to photograph me

Liar.

Lottie kicked him in the shin, just missing his cunt bone.

I would very much like to be excluded from this narrative.

Did anyone see the pictures of him hugging the tree.

Definitely using.

String him up!

Author James Grissom takes Sessums down on Facebook this morning with delicious results. It takes a Southern queen to knock out the deluded pretensions of another Southern queen. The cooking video he is referring to is linked below.

"Okay, I pitched something to HBO that got the room laughing and a powerful actress interested in producing, but there were naysayers: "Jim," they said. "Really?" I admit that the idea of a limited series about a recovering meth addict and narcissistic writer being given a cooking series, which he then turns into self-aggrandizement and therapy was a moon shot, but I resented being told no such person could possibly exist in the "real" world.

Is there a real world?

So I felt compelled to show them the research. Here it is. I admit it's a bit unbelievable, but it's real.

They also thought some of my names were a bit "too much," but Ruth Laney can vouch that there once was an editor named Freda Claire Yarbrough Pipes Dunne, and I really think my Meth Mixer needs an editor with that name.

Do what you will. Improvise a pie. Cry for River Phoenix. Make the pie and everything else about yourself.

It's the real world.

See you on TV!

(A fun drinking game can be fashioned if you take a swig each time he smacks his lips. You'll be drunk by the time the confession comes.)"

Wow, R197. I had to look up the post on FB, not trusting that your post was just a copy of Grissom's own text. How fantastic to think that Grissom could make a success of absurd but funny series based on KS's sad exploits - Grissim getting richer off KS's tramping around town, terrying young barristas "paying it forward" with his Cat Hair Oil Cake, and his Tears for River Phoenix Key Lime Pie.

Crazy, R197. It's interesting to peruse Grissom's FB feed over the years; there's been a kind of love/hate thing with KS. Or maybe they just mutually prop each other up when it served them. After fawning over KS in prior years, Grissom released this gem in 2019.

"Is Kevin Sessums gone yet? He exhorts us to "be kind," yet he slandered me and called it grace. Even it if seeks grace, goes to meetings, and whines about hunger, it's still evil. Pack some meth on your long walk to grace, sugar."

Anybody here familiar with the "slander" in question?

I don't know, R199, but they seem cut from the same cloth of narcissism.

While both of them are shameless self-promoters, I give credit to Grissom for calling Sessums on his shit and mocking him on his FB page for all and sundry to read.

I cut Grissom way more slack. He had his life nearly ruined by Republicans and MAGAts, In 2016, he wrote publicly about battling cancer and reaching out to then NY Senator Hillary Clinton for help with the insurmountable medical bills. She personally helped him, but then he was targeted by Republicans - some in higher office - and accused of being a paid actor for Hillary's presidential campaign. He was the target of multiple death threats and personal slander (including wildly homophobic taunts), and instead of shrinking away, he took them to court. With I think the help of the ACLU, he won.

Good grief. That video could be subtitled Live from Bellevue.

I remember that, R202. It was a very strange turn of events. While I have no reason to doubt his story, there were other things apart from that (messages to mutual friends, etc) that left me feeling like I wanted to keep him at arm's length.

R186 did his mother die when he was a kid? He never seems to mention it.

MESSHY PUSSHY: A Play in 3 Acts

by

James Grissom

Comparing himself to Nureyev again this morning. Talk about deluded.

You're kidding me, R207.

For someone whose motto is "Onward," there's an awful lot of looking "Backward." It's becoming too sad to be funny, I think, and I'm starting to think he's in real danger of something tragic happening. All these friends who he meets and makes and mentions... why do none of them take him aside and give him a kind but firm chat. Pilgrims are supposed to be moving forward, not constantly reminding others of their long past glory days.

[quote]Small-town London. Stopped in for a visit with the gorgeous Rea her gorgeous shop @shumtiandco in Little Venice on Clifton Road. I loved these Hoffman frames made from Asian water buffalo horn. I told her if I can sign another book contact before I leave for Paris in March, I will buy these.

More grifting in a post from today. If he keeps going to the fancy eyeglasses store and posting a link to his 5000 flyover and backwater Mississippi followers, maybe the shop owner will give him a free pair of frames -- and lenses? Maybe a book publisher, entranced by the shards of blue light, will give him a generous advance on a contract signing?

Maybe.

He loves any eyeglass frames he tries on, if only because they are clean and free of the permacrud smears of cat hair oil cake and the splatters of frenzied toe-tapping in the bogs of small town London.

It's not magic light, it's just mung and muck caked on everything he touches.

Does “Pan” even exist?

For someone who's supposedly living hand to mouth, she's quite the little spendthrift.

[quote]For someone who's supposedly living hand to mouth, she's quite the little spendthrift.

Quite.

All the cultural institutions in London and this cunt can't find his way into a museum or library, an historic site, or a garden.

Instead his only cultural interest is in theatre (or the dance!) where he can name drop people he almost met once or would like to be photographed with. His social interest is in creeping young baristas and shop clerks, or cadging for gifts/favors from shop owners and heads of companies in return for a mention in his wackadoodle Facebook posts.

He could spend a few days marvelling at Islamic ceramics at the V&A, instead he keeps dropping in the same eyeglasses shops to beg for SWAG.

His celebrity days are over. His days of influence, such as they were, are over. His reservoir of pity towards him is bone dry, sunk the the levels of a scant few who just don't want to cause a scene by blowing him off too very obviously. The celebrities who kindly stand beside this mushy mouthed old cueball stinking of piss have that look of "the poor thing, this will all be over in a few seconds and maybe it will brighten his sad little life at the group home."

He's got fucking nothing and yet he thinks he's got more comebacks ahead for himself than Normal Desmond.

I have not wanted ever to comment here, as this story has been becoming more obviously sad or a long time, pre-London and most certainly since. Yet I continue to read, wishing well but standing back. But I feel the same as r209. Sadly I fear this trajectory is going to be the grist for someone else's novel, fiction but reflecting just this slow, sorry tale of loss set in a world of glamour once readily at hand and now beyond reach.

Not that all the snark and venom isn't well deserved and well landed on Sessums. But I read "projection" and "fear" between the lines of a few of the most scathing and grim assessments.

It is weird that for all his pretentiousness that he does not even have a college degree. He must be on the spectrum. He is so incurious about so much of the world, just like r213 said.

R213, you nailed it beautifully. You are 100 percent correct--particularly about his complete lack of interest in anything other than shopping and theatre, which he grifts free tickets for and for which he can look like he's still part of the in-crowd. What a pathetic old man he is.

I’ve enjoyed these threads because I knew him a long time ago. He wasn’t awful to me. I just have had a morbid curiosity about him. The pretentiousness, grifting, grandiosity…his social media presence is so ridiculous and I’ve really enjoyed the DL take on it.

But then I watched R197 and I was shocked at how unwell he seems. I don’t feel ok laughing at him at this point.

But oh GOD his PROSE!

It's very hard to feel even the slightest pangs of pity for someone who, at his age, still behaves with the same grifting, self-delusional traits that he exhibited well-nigh almost 40 years ago. He never learns, he never really takes any accountability, and he's deeply untrustworthy. He has learned nothing and has not changed and shows no interest in changing. He's all artifice. He's a hollow shell that pretends he's full of awareness. The "onward" nonsense is just talk. And boy does she talk!

Our hero is throwing a hissy-fit Sesssshion on FB -- after being treated shabbily at some BAFTA-related event. Dental issues were mentioned in the rant.

"I had bought a ticket to this panel of the young actors who are nominated for the BAFTA Rising Star award....But when I got there I couldn't find my ticket..." Sure, Sesshie, sure!

Haha just read the rant and came straight here to see if anyone picked up on it. How ridiculous. Here's the rant in full : Small-town London. So I had bought a ticket to this panel of the young actors who are nominated for the BAFTA Rising Star award this year which was being held this evening at the Odeon in Leicester Square. I was going as an act of friendship for Christina Papagjika, who was a lead producer on the Whitney Houston biopic which starred Naomi Ackie and also as an act of solidarity with Naomi since I think she was overlooked in other awards this year. Neither knew I was going. It was an existential show of support as well as a physical one. But when I got there I couldn't find my ticket and the guards at the door were officious and I felt as if I were some sort of leper or crazy person kept away from the "insiders." I am having dental issues that have surfaced yet again - I buried the lede - and so was in no mood with the throbbing pain I had been trying to ignore all day to put up with being so overtly ostracized. I wasn't even allowed in to try to access wifi since my iPhone AT&T roaming wasn't picking up a signal. I finally picked up Wifi at a hotel nearby and found the debit card transaction at Chase but no seat number. The Odeon crew was pointing me to the BAFTA tables and the BAFTA tables were pointing me to the Odeon people. Let's just say I finally vented and asked to see a manager. At that point I didn't want to see the fucking panel - you would have thought the Oscar ceremony were upstairs - and asked if it were possible to get a voucher for future movie at an Odeon cinema. The manager agreed to that and I thanked her for her kindness - "Finally someone tonight was kind, thank you" - and apologized to the folks who worked for her to whom I had vented. I headed home to cook where I await my house mate finishing in the kitchen so I can do so.

I had harbored a wish to attend the BAFTAs. But if a little panel at Leicester Square was this difficult to attend I can't even imagine how snotty that will be. Fuck it. I'll go to Icons of the Ballet that night at the Coliseum. That is more my crowd at this point anyway.

Lol.

This part made me LOL: " But when I got there I couldn't find my ticket and the guards at the door were officious and I felt as if I were some sort of leper or crazy person kept away from the "insiders." I am having dental issues that have surfaced yet again - I buried the lede - and so was in no mood with the throbbing pain I had been trying to ignore all day to put up with being so overtly ostracized." So if you don't have a ticket for an event that you want to attend then you are being "overtly ostracized"?

R223 B-b-b-but he had dental issues (he has teeth?)! You're heartless! Of course they should have parted the waters and ushered his iconic, ticketless presence into whichever venue was featuring the "young actors" he was eager to ogle whilst salivating and pondering his next Nutcrack missive (consider subscribing for five quid). I can still hear his "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" reverberating from across the pond. I do love how he neatly incorporated his refusal to attend the actual BAFTAs out of principle -- efficiently sidestepping the sad truth that, despite resorting to groveling on social media for an invitation -- he never would have been invited.

This points to the self-delusional in him: the long, whining rants on social media for all to see only reveal him to be the pathetic, opportunistic old creature that he is--bad teeth, no ticket, Frau-like behavior (asking for the manager!), and constantly currying favor for a hand-out.

Imagine the ushers having to deal with this Nosferatu looking motherfucker thinking he's important.

[quote]I wasn't even allowed in to try to access wifi since my iPhone AT&T roaming wasn't picking up a signal.

What is he doing with AT&T roaming? FFS, get a European mobile plan -- loads cheaper than U.S. plans and it's easy to find a plan that works in the UK, EU, and U.S.

I can't imagine it's that his U.S. mobile number is ringing off the hook with writing and appearance fee offers.

Yep R227 for someone who keeps harping on about living with no money he sure rinses the few 'quid' he does have.

"At that point I didn't want to see the fucking panel - you would have thought the Oscar ceremony were upstairs - and asked if it were possible to get a voucher for future movie at an Odeon cinema. The manager agreed to that and I thanked her for her kindness - 'Finally someone tonight was kind, thank you' - and apologized to the folks who worked for her to whom I had vented. I headed home to cook where I await my house mate finishing in the kitchen so I can do so."

I do love how, even in the throes of toothless dental agony, he found the wherewithal to grift a free "cinema" ticket from the manager, who was probably delirious with joy to get rid of this charlatan. The tidbit of having to wait for the "house mate" to finish up in the kitchen before he could "sear" some nasty, sure-to-be-shared concoction was just icing on the cake. I can only feel for Pan (it's got to be Pan, no?), who must have died inside upon being surprised by the unexpectedly early return of his tiresome kitchen competition.

He’s so stupid to ignore his “dental issues.”

Can you IMAGINE sharing a flat with him? Is that what's going on? I frankly (and thankfully) lost track of his accommodations saga.

it is so shocking how he actually has "fans" who call him brave and wise. Wow.

Wonder how many 'fans' subscribe to his bullshit writing grift. One of his major problems is that he doesn't realise just how BAD a writer he is and how his purple prose is so fucking cringe inducing.

Why does he post anecdotes of his daily humiliations? It’s humiliating!

Does he not know how he comes across?

What is the psychology? I get that he can never bounce back from having once been a bit of a somebody and also that he’s a hard up addict and grifter.

But the super crazy part to me is his lack of dignity/sense of entitlement.

Just seen he approached some teenage twink to take photos of him at Leicester Square before the BAFTA disaster. Poor kid.

R234, that's what's amazing--he has both a lack of dignity AND a sense of entitlement.

Does his pusshy even exist?

The James Grissom FB takedown is delicious:

Okay, I pitched something to HBO that got the room laughing and a powerful actress interested in producing, but there were naysayers: "Jim," they said. "Really?" I admit that the idea of a limited series about a recovering meth addict and narcissistic writer being given a cooking series, which he then turns into self-aggrandizement and therapy was a moon shot, but I resented being told no such person could possibly exist in the "real" world.

Is there a real world?

So I felt compelled to show them the research. Here it is. I admit it's a bit unbelievable, but it's real.

They also thought some of my names were a bit "too much," but Ruth Laney can vouch that there once was an editor named Freda Claire Yarbrough Pipes Dunne, and I really think my Meth Mixer needs an editor with that name.

Do what you will. Improvise a pie. Cry for River Phoenix. Make the pie and everything else about yourself.

It's the real world.

See you on TV!

(A fun drinking game can be fashioned if you take a swig each time he smacks his lips. You'll be drunk by the time the confession comes.)