Prologue to a uh

Why is it so difficult for me to play the game? 

The other day I was driving around late at night with a saxophone on the seat next to me and I was suddenly struck by all the meaninglessness everywhere.  I wish I had untold millions of dollars so I could purchase every DC Comics Archive which has ever been released in the history of mankind.  Then I would line them up on gorgeous oak bookshelves and drool while staring at the numbered spines.  Then I would pay voluptuous Latina prostitutes to read them to me while using my face as their footrests.  I think I’m going to buy the Criterion blu-ray of Days of Heaven today but don’t quote me on it.  I have been misquoted too many times before, especially by the left-wing muckrakers at The New York Times.  The Times is such a toxic periodical I sometimes wrap several copies around my face in the hopes the poisonous vapors will extinguish my futile existence.  Alas, it seems I’ve built up an immunity to toxins over the years, no doubt through my various criminal enterprises and well documented experiments with chemicals and narcotics.  

At some point in the next 457 days I would like to purchase another volume of the Superman Chronicles.  Holy shit I love golden age comic books.  There is an elegance and beauty in their simplistic art and storytelling.  If only my life were more like a golden age comic book perhaps I wouldn’t be such an ugly, fat-faced sack of garbage.  But I probably still would be.  Even in the golden age not everything was golden.  But Superman in particular I love because he has such a good and pure heart.  His is an example I catastrophically fail to emulate each and every day.  I always hoped Jim Caviezel would play Superman and he was my top choice for the role since the early forties.  However now it seems this was simply not meant to be.  Still, if Warner Bros. ever decides to make a live action filmic adaptation of Kingdom Come or any other type of future Superman story where the character is portrayed as a bit older then Caviezel would still be top choice.  Interesting how Caviezel stated playing Jesus Christ greatly damaged his career (though he also added he would do it all over again).  Interesting that this would be controversial.  I know far too many people who are not tolerant of any beliefs or way of thinking other than their own.  I have been described as a misanthrope.  I wish I had a future…anywhere.    

If I were tasked with selecting my favorite John Frusciante album I would no doubt start by dropping large piles of excrement into my rent trousers due to the stress.  Frusciante’s discography is rife with amazing material.  I can’t deny Shadows Collide with People holds a special place in my heart but could that be considered my favorite?  What about the bleak yet endearing Niandra Lades or the cleansing return to form To Record Only Water for Ten Days?  Still, I lean a bit towards The Will to Death but then I think: what about the acoustic elegance of Curtains or the stormy, impassioned The Empyrean.  And fuck, what about the electronic gumfuddlingly angular and brain-tittingly righteous PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone which I have pretty much listened to 897 times a day since it was released last year? 

Lately I have been having intense, burning while I urinate desires to purchase a synthesizer.  I’ve narrowed it down to 233 choices but I will likely only be able to afford 2.  After purchasing a synthesizer the next necessary purchase will soft slash hard ware for recording my great avant-garde musical expressions.  You, dear readers, will likely be the first to have their earholes blessed with my muzak. 

The older I get the more I become a stew of bizarre fetishes.  Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’ve recently been burning my way through a collection of used blu-rays.  There are so many books I need and want to read I sometimes wonder if I will ever find the time or if I am simply destined to die a worthless and ugly man.  The amount of time I spend doing things which mean nothing to me is shocking.  People are a mass of contradictions.  Something which is acceptable one moment is reprehensible the next.  Something flattering at dawn is offensive at dusk.   Something is coveted for a single minute and then forgotten in the following one.  No one is guiltier of this than yours truly.  

I loved her belt.  I wished to compliment her on the belt but I did not have the guts.  I didn’t have the testicular fortitude.  I didn’t have the chops.  I couldn’t cut the mustard.  That fact will haunt me for the rest of my days and render me impotent in the zaniest of situations.  How I long for a woman who would break a plate over my head.  If I am at all honest with myself and my constituents it wasn’t simply the belt I loved but also what was lurking underneath the belt.  Oh sweet glory.  And thank you department store for all the different colors.  Seeing is believing as they say.  

The treadmill scene in Season 8 of Dexter is one of the best scenes ever filmed in the history of television.  Those who have not yet seen it will know what I am talking about when they do and their lives will never be the same.  When next we meet you will all be telling me what amazing taste I have but the funny thing is I am already well aware of this fact.  

Batman Returns is my favorite Christmas movie and one of my favorite films of all effing time.  I love the divisive nature of this movie.  I love to love it.  That’s the great thing I can say about anything I love – from a piece of music to the most bizarre fetish – I love to love it.  I have felt so connected to the bass recently.  What a beautiful instrument.  It is the perfect instrument for me, how I love a fat bottom end.  Bass humping the face, that’s what I always need.  How I love a fat bottom end humping my face. 

For obvious reasons, Never Say Never Again is my probably my favorite James Bond movie.

I'll kneel before you if it will save lives

Last night I watched the movie Watchmen again.  It filled me with the same sense of unbridled joy which always comes with viewing this film.  How I love it so.  Immediately after I reached for my well-read but still well preserved copy of the trade paperback and started re-reading all my favorite parts – not realizing until untold hours later I had just re-read the entire story once more.  Watchmen truly is one of my favorite literary works and I often cling the trade paperback to my bosom the way a child clings to a beloved and comforting plush bear.  It is a fully absorbing and inspirational work.  Likewise the film also has a spot amongst my all-time favorites.  Mark my words: Watchmen (the movie) will one day be held in supremely high regard in the cinematic world.  I predict a 2001: A Space Odyssey-like resurgence in critical and popular opinion.  I am often correct about these things.  I wisely predicted back in my review of I'm With You by the Red Hot Chili Peppers blog post from September 4th, 2011 that Ben Affleck would one day don the cape and cowl of the dark knight (though some predictions I wish would never come true.  Still, I am doing my level best to remain optimistic). 

It’s occurred to me recently U2 are one of my favorite bands. This occurs to me at least once a week.  What more could possibly be said about Achtung Baby?   Tis’ only one of the greatest albums ever made and I say that with all the authority of a man who has not listened to nearly all of the albums ever made.  I feel so bad for those misguided fools who cut themselves off from entire decades of music.  What pathetic parasites that deserve all the hate in the world.  It makes me want to take hammer to nails and build a log cabin out in the wilderness where I would live off the land and never have to see their vile faces again. 

I watched the movie Out of the Furnace this weekend and before the feature presentation there was a slew of previews of coming attractions.  The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug arrives at the multiplex this Friday and even though I have no real interest or desire in seeing it I am certain I will.  Not sure what other movies I’m looking forward to this year.  November and December are those ultra-tacky months with all the miserable award-bait movies.  How the academy disgusts me.  How award-bait movies repulse me.  I don’t reckon The Hobbit will be an awards-bait movie (especially considering the not-great critical reception of its predecessor) so perhaps I should be more excited for that movie.  Honestly, I cannot recall when I was more looking forward to watching a movie as much as The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.  I still need to get my hands on the director’s cut of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.  I wonder what uncut goodness has been added to the film! Perhaps another 27 rousing hours in Bilbo’s house, washing dishes and singing songs!  Maybe another 19 hours of running in tunnels from horrible CGI goblins!  Perhaps each and every scene was simply extended even further, thus ensuring that a single line from the book now takes 59 hours to unfold on screen rather than the previously rushed 34. 

Fantasy fans are amongst the absolute worst when it comes to arguing about adaptations or taking personally a criticism of their favorite works.  So to that end I will just say to all you Hobbit fans (movie, I enjoyed the book) out there that I respect your opinion and believe there is room enough in this vast, ever expanding crazy universe for all types.  I will be there opening night for this new adventure in Middle-Earth though I am a bit worried since Benedict Cumberbatch played the Necromancer in the first one and is now playing Smaug in this one and I fear I may confuse the characters throughout the entire film!

Transitioning back to the more level-headed and calm world of comic book movies, all everyone on the planet has been discussing this past week is the announcement of Gal Gadot playing Wonder Woman and the news of this character set to appear in the upcoming sequel to Man of Steel which may or may not be a Superman vs. Batman movie (though it definitely has Ben Affleck as Batman).  I cannot recall another movie in the history of my worthless life which has subjected me to such a consistent and dramatic fluctuation of emotional highs and lows, each devastating in their impact.  To say the news of this casting broke the planet into a billion irreparable pieces would be the gross understatement of the millennium.  Reaction to this casting choice has been mixed at best with many folks and sites throwing out some particularly venomous comments.  I would not be much of a smelly comics fan if I did not throw my 2% of one dollar American currency into the mix so here goes less than nothing:

I am a huge fan of Wonder Woman and have been so for untold centuries.  It is true that she cannot claim the number one spot on my list of favorite superheroes on a particularly consistent basis though she can claim it at least a few times a year and this is something which cannot be said for 99% of the rest.  She is simply a great character.  I am deeply in love with her.  The combination of beauty, power, intelligence, compassion and sexuality is utterly irresistible to me and in a future blog post I would like to delve uncomfortably deep in what I find so fascinating and wonderful (haha) about this character (icon).  I have not seen any of Ms. Gadot’s work (for better or worse I tend to avoid the Fast and Furious movies) so I cannot comment on her acting.  At this point it is largely irrelevant anyway without any idea of the story or the size of her role.  Comic book movies have a rich history of casting not-as-well-known actors to great success.  As far as acting is concerned I am far more worried about Mr. Affleck.  So instead I am going to be a jerk and comment on her physical appearance like everyone else is doing.  Then I can happily be labeled superficial or chauvinistic or some other delightful thing.  She looks too skinny.  There.  I said it.  It’s all out in the open now.  It’s been twisting around in my stomach since I first saw the announcement. 

I know, I know, I’m being a superficial jerk but the look is without a doubt a significant part of this character (as are my heated S&M style fantasies).  I know, I know, I’m also not paying attention to history.  Plenty of actors have been deemed too skinny or short or out of shape or just wrong for these types roles and again and again have proven living jokes like me wrong (Henry Cavill most recently and Heath Ledger quite famously).  Why, just a couple years ago I was screaming to anyone in earshot how Tom Hardy did not look physically imposing at all and would not be a credible Bane but I was proven so wrong I should have been forced to watch The Hobbit: A Long Drawn Out Journey again before being subjected to  The White Stripes entire discography.  Additionally, from interviews I’ve seen, Ms. Gadot is very personable, very charismatic and yes, very pretty, which are all qualities inherent to the character.  I am ashamed of my fanboy self just as I try to resist his pull.  I want nothing more than to be proven completely wrong (as I happily often am) by a photo or piece of footage and to then be ridiculed for ever doubting.  I was so happy to hear that one of my favorite characters (from any medium) was going to finally have a big screen debut and I want that feeling to only grow.  And so I will focus only on that feeling from now on.  I am sorry Gal, you deserve so much better.  The negativity is all out of my system.  I can now be cautiously optimistic. 

Regardless of all the misgivings I've discussed in this insightful blog post I must now express pure happiness at simply being able to watch so many movies!  Watchmen, Out of the Furnace, The Hobbit, the upcoming Superman vs. Batman and introducing Wonder Woman and featuring Everyone in the World!  Regardless of whether I love or hate something I am just so gosh darn thankful to the powers that be for the opportunity to view it all!  And what a great time to be a nerd!  At what other point in cinematic history could we witness a Hobbit trilogy and the makings of a Superman vs. Batman movie?  Repulsion from director Roman Polanski is so captivating and the Criterion blu-ray so beautiful that I am tempted to simultaneously gouge out both my eyeballs with a horseshoe just from thinking about it.  I like to have binge marathons where I watch Repulsion, The American Friend and La Nave de los Monstruos 17 times in a row at 5 minutes past every hour. 

I have been thinking of getting the logo of my favorite XFL team tattooed on my back while waiting for the new season to start.  

What have they done to the earth?

I can’t be the only one who thinks the chorus melody to the song Alien by Britney Spears (track 1 off her new album Britney Jean) sounds like the pre-chorus melody to the song Behind Blue Eyes by The Who.  Or can I?  Spears’ new album is unusually restrained; a gentler, slower burn of a disc following the dance heavy trifecta of Blackout, Circus and Femme Fatale.  That does not inherently make it less interesting musically speaking or less vital in her catalog though this is not the only reason the album initially stands out as something of an oddity.  The shortened length and lack of promotion does make one initially wonder if the album exists more as an advertisement for her Las Vegas residency and less as a serious minded artistic statement (either way the timing is very likely not a coincidence).  Highbrow folk may be quick to point out the slew of writers and producers which worked on this record as something which would preclude any artistry whatsoever (I was almost tempted to follow this logic when I saw how much credit is given to the odious Will.I.Am).  

However I have always found something of a strange nobility and artistry in extremely glossy over-produced pop music and Spears’ oeuvre is no exception.  Certainly, Ms. Spears herself has stated this is a more personal work and one expressly crafted as a “thank you” to the fans.  And the songs themselves are already yielding trademark production intricacies along with some surprisingly yearning vocals.  The icy synths of this release cascade before me like a shimmering bubblegum snowfall.  In this way perhaps it would be better to draw comparisons to Nine Inch Nails’ 2008 album The Slip.  This was an album given minimal promotion (receiving more attention for the innovative way it was released rather than for any of the music), spawned only one single and was a good deal shorter than the releases which preceded and followed it.  Yet Trent Reznor also noted that The Slip was for the fans first and foremost and seemed quite proud of the work.  Years later it remains one of my favorite Nine Inch Nails releases.  Indeed, part of its charm is actually its shorter length and rougher edges which provide a fittingly dramatic counter-point to the more layered and polished records by this artist.  How Britney Jean will stack up in upcoming years and what place of stature it will fine in her catalog remains to be seen of course.  But I am interested to find out. 

It seems she is single now.  I remember with vivid Technicolor clarity the very first time I saw her.  It was a standard mournful, depressing morning – the likes of which rear their ugly faces at the start of each and every punishing day in my failed life – and I had fixed myself a lofty bowl of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes (the ones with the colorful cock on the box) and switched on the television, anxious to suckle a bit on the glass teat before beginning what was sure to be a miserable, worthless day.  Images flickered across the screen and before my eyes like flipping through a picture book of corruption: killers on the city bus, people slaughtering entire families, teenagers succumbing to drugs and gang violence, girls getting pregnant while in 6^th grade, racial discrimination, political corruption, wars overseas, wanton acts of terrorism everywhere.  Can one blame me for feeling disgusted?  What vile creatures we are.  

But then.  

Then.  

Then I happened I stop on the E! network and suddenly all the world’s problems and all the disgusting humanity wreaking (while also reeking) their typical and repugnant havoc across the planet seemed far away.  The smoke began to disappear and I could make out the figure of a woman.  A voluptuous goddess taming everything with her spirit of peace and nurturing and in that moment I felt all was going to be okay.  I set my bowl of aside and called in sick to whatever pointless job I had at the time.  The latest issue of TV Guide informed me I was catching the early stages of a 4 hour marathon and there was nothing which would tear me away from this pure, exquisite vision; she was love, she was everything. 

I watched her crack an egg open and allow the yolk to fall into her hand.  It stayed there for a moment and then slowly she allowed the liquid to slip through her fingers and into a waiting bowl before letting the entire yolk fall in after.  This was glorious, indefinable sex.  How wet my immediate surroundings became that day.  And everything from the pastels of her wardrobe to her hair – as dark and rich as the chocolate she loved to eat – to her teasing accented voice, only drew me deeper into her wonderful caloric web.  Oh how she savored her creations.  How I longed for her to roll me up as though I were a ball of cookie dough and playfully plop me into her mouth like all the delectable food she makes and then crush me between her glorious white teeth and then roll me against the roof of her mouth with her elegant tongue while her hot saliva begins to drown me.   Perhaps I would become inadvertently wedged in between two of her molars and she would have to be rough and push me out with said tongue.  And before she swallows me she tells me in her posh accent how tasty and yet how pathetic and ugly and useless I am.  Beautiful. 

Last night I had a rather horrifying dream involving a woman named Lynda with whom I actually went on a date a few months ago.  In the dream I found her somewhere – it felt like a house I used to live in but everything looked a little off – and she was extremely visibly shaken.  I asked her what was wrong and she related to me a history of alien abduction, with 5 experiences taking place all within the past two weeks.  She started to cry while describing the appearance of the aliens and suddenly I was able to see them too and I then joined her in the crying.  I spent the rest of the dream desperately trying to convince her that she was dreaming or suffering from strange hallucinations but I did not truly believe this.  When I awoke I spent the rest of the night with the blanket pulled over my head, still trying to convince myself her experiences in my dream were only dreams themselves.  It did not entirely work.  

I really don’t think this texting thing is going to catch on. 

A fight to the death in the tunnel of love

If there is one thing I am attracted to in a woman it is when she uses a Bumpit in her hair.  I once worked at a very high profile jewelry store in a commercial mall where I frequently racked up millions of dollars in sales – earning a commission on every penny sold which I would immediately turn around and invest in low risk mutual funds in wise anticipation of the market dipping.  Each day, while walking through the mall on the way to the jewelry store I would pass a Mexican restaurant which employed literally thousands of tempestuous waitresses.  During this moment in my daily sojourn I would turn my head in their direction and walk using only my peripheral vision.  I would pay particular attention to a delightful and full-figured hostess (as full as a ham on rye sandwich stuffed with delicious meat and dripping condiments) who happened to sport a Bumpit.  I do not believe she ever caught my lecherous leers and likely knew nothing about the rich array of fantasy she inspired.  I imagined climbing her Bumpit enhanced hair like a mountain, only to lose my foot on some uncertain strands and fall screaming to my death.  I imagined her lowering her head and charging me like a bull and crushing my stomach with the iron like strength of her Bumpit where I would then subsequently die of internal bleeding and in extreme pain.  I imagined a swarm of enraged killer wasps flying out from her hive like hair and stinging me millions of times until those wonderful final, feverish moments. 

Day after day I would stare into that glorious restaurant, imagining what I would say to her if given even half the chance.  I wanted to reach my hand out with the promise of taking her away from all the sweaty resignation of common, everyday life.  In that scenario I liked to imagine her pulling out a heretofore hidden machete (perhaps carefully stocked away inside her towering Bumpit hair) and swiftly chopping off my arm at the elbow Jason Vorhees style.  After years of careful consideration I finally decided I would walk right up to her and say, “Hi, is that a Bumpit in your hair or are you just happy to see me?”  I said this out loud to myself in a quiet and red colored room to get a feel for how the words sounded when making contact with the air.  The cleverness of this line caused me to erupt in childlike fits of laughter and the joy was so great that I was only able to quash my enthusiasm by taking a sharp and sterilized Exacto knife [which I’d pilfered from a local middle school science lab after doing a presentation there on monotremes (egg-laying mammals) – a subject which I became something of an expert on after a lengthy study abroad and following several papers which were published in widely respected periodicals Scientific American and Popular Science] and making three 5.9 inch cuts along the inside of my left thigh.  I then doused the cuts in rubbing alcohol and sat on my bed staring at a hole in the wall where I was convinced lived a man who had seven kids, each of them telling me to commit unspeakable acts.  When I finally worked up the courage to step foot inside that restaurant and speak to this woman I was crushed to find she had quit.  For the following eleven weeks I ate 9 double cheeseburgers a day in order to cope with the loss.  At the end of each day I would look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and tell myself it was all going to be okay and one day I would be able to love again. 

There is a big ugly hole in things and I do not know how to fix it.  This cannot be what was intended.  I once called it a social disease (cleverly quoting from Bon Jovi) and was told I sounded like a Republican.  What is this horrifyingly empty life we create for ourselves?  Every single day I have at least one moment which borders on sheer panic as I confront things so profoundly empty and repulsive.  Some of these things want to reach out and touch me.  Some of them even have intimate knowledge of me and are so blind they actually believe there is a point.  There is nothing inside any of them and sometimes I have to wonder if they are real or simply a terrifying illusion from a tortured dreamer’s mind.  In those instances I am not sure who exactly the dreamer is…but I think I know where he or she or it may be living.  Oh god please get away please don’t touch me don’t come near me why do you talk to me why do they all talk to me how can they not see how disgusting it is how wrong all of it is why all this waste and emptiness how we can go on thinking that everything is okay fuck it is so repulsive it is so fucking repulsive please don’t let me see it anymore oh god what is happening all the thoughts inside my head are crashing against one another I can’t think at all I can’t see anything except horrible ugly fucking faces and one massive creeping soul that eats every fucking thing exists only to eat and hate and fuck endless fucking oh please oh god oh please what is happening to me

At long last the trailer for The Strange Colour of Your Body’s Tears was released yesterday. I watched it 267 times while at work and an additional 471 times while relaxing in my posh flat and sipping on a glass of Pinot Noir.  I have often found myself wishing my life would begin to mimic the plot outline for a Giallo but so far this has not come to pass.  Needless to say this is going to be one of those movies I look forward to almost as much as my own demise and the months will pass like millennia until I am finally privileged to view whatever limited release it may have.  Additionally, since the waiting and anticipation has been so intense – and coupled with my passion for the horror genre, Giallos and anything with a surrealist kinetic style – I will surely convince myself I love this film regardless of how truly amazing or truly awful it is.  I wish I had a future, anywhere.     

It’s that time of year again ladies and germs!  The time has come where I prepare a list of my favorite movies, music and reads of two-zero-thirteen.  My lists are going to set the whole town on fire!  Hold on to your asses because these next few weeks are going to see a lot of great updates and hog-wrangling excitement!  It’s going to be the literary equivalent of someone shooting their spunk into your eye and then slapping you across the face with a lightly seasoned poached salmon.  Can anyone guess right now what my favorite movie of ’13 is?  I will give you all a hint: it could be a cute and clever movie about slugs that enter a racing competition.  Still can’t figure it out?  Don’t worry, in time all will be revealed.  However I can for sure tell you that The Strange Colour of Your Body’s Tears will definitely be on my list of the best movies of 2014!  Already a freebie and the year hasn’t even started yet!

That’s right, you keep pumping em' out and we’ll keep paying for em'.