My brain is scrambled
egg.
The other day I was
driving through the snow in my vintage 53’ maroon Mercury Coup. It
was night and the sky was pink. I always loved the silent intensity
of snow fall. I listened to U2’s 2000 album All That You Can’t Leave Behind (this would begin a new era of very
long album titles in their history) while driving and the sheer beauty of
everything hit me like a cinder block. All That… is often critically lauded as U2’s third masterpiece
[after The Joshua Tree and Achtung Baby (swoon)] but for some
reason I had never been able to fully connect with the album (despite the fact
that it has one of my favorite album covers of all time, one would think this
would be enough). I had always much preferred the other two
aforementioned works – especially Achtung
Baby – and Zooropa also spoke to me much more. However
that night, everything seemed to click and I understood the themes and absorbed
the melodies and sounds in ways seemingly not possible before. I
felt such a peace with myself and the world around me and the spiritual planes
surrounding everything.
Last night I watched
the movie The Man with the Iron Fists
3 times in a row while drinking several bottles of Sangria red wine which I purchased
at Ye Local Rite Aid. I enjoy buying wine and hard alcohol at Rite Aid
because it is dirt cheap and because I can also purchase various fetishistic
items while still blending in and typically the atmosphere of a Rite Aid is so
depressing – nearly to the point of it being actually physically suffocating –
that I feel right at home. I was reading an interview with director
Christopher Nolan (who in my eyes can do no wrong and whose every film is a
cinematic masterpiece only topped by his next stroke of brilliance) wherein he
stated something to the effect of the only he feels disappointment in the
viewing of a feature film is when he leaves with the impression that it was
only work and no passion for the talents involved. Regardless
of the end result he likes to feel that those who made the movie actively think
it is the best in the world. It is a
philosophy I can get behind and applies well to this feature film. At every second it is clear the movie is a
passion project of the RZA and he was trying to make the best film possible in
tribute to the Kung Fu and Karate movies he so loves. I hope with
all my darkened soul that he is afforded the opportunity to direct again.
I have tasted evil on
the tongue and the most horrifying thing of all is I liked it. It came to me with great clarity recently
what sad disgusting things we all are. The amount of settling we do
– not on a daily basis but on an hourly, sometimes by the minute basis – is
truly staggering. Every single one of us is only one single
elucidating moment away from realizing the stark failure of our existence and
reacting in the only sensible way imaginable. Oh how the tears
streamed down on all our faces when our true selves were exposed. What
weak, ugly things we all are, searching desperately for some meaning in it
all. How we love to dance and trade body fluids and pretend it
matters. We jump from person to person and addiction to addiction
and we are able to kid ourselves into believing we know what is right. We
are so incredibly stupid and rotting on the inside that we are actually able to
fool ourselves.
I quite literally shit
my trousers the other day when I heard that Gloria Trevi was coming to my neck
of the woods for a concert. Those who know me best know of my deep
love for La Trevi and how I would happily murder anyone – even those I love
most – in order to see her live in concert. The part that is so
ironic it will go down in history as a textbook example of irony is a few
months ago I was lamenting the fact that she seems to never to come anywhere
near my home and I did not think I would ever have a chance to see her live
show without flying down to Mexico (where I would no doubt embroil myself in a
daring scheme to manipulate and steal from several different drug cartels while
also attempting to stage a coup overthrowing the Mexican president and
positioning someone more amenable to my needs in that seat of power). And
then suddenly there was this announcement which I heard through a friend of a
friend. The most joyous thing of all is the incredibly affordable
ticket prices. There are deluxe meet and greet tickets which I am
seriously considering purchasing. One of the reasons I am
considering this is because I recently obtained a shiny new credit card that
has a voluptuous limit and I am eager to max it out and accrue more debt. Truthfully,
the price of a meet and greet ticket is less money than the price of several
standard tickets I have paid for other artists. This makes me think
I should do it and that I would regret it for the rest of my natural, miserable
and utterly wasted life if I did not. La
Trevi’s music was a revelation for me. Her albums are about as perfect as pop and rock can get. Pelo Suelto still hits me as hard all these years later and makes me thank the sweet heavens I am alive to enjoy it. Fuck I love this song and this artist!
All my friends in the
underground music circuit know I am in the market for a new electric bass
guitar. Despite having tried out every brand in the rich history of
the instrument and loving several I have come to the conclusion that I
desperately need a Fender in my bottom end arsenal. The only
question is whether to go for a Fender Jazz bass or a Fender Precision bass. P
or J? This question has haunted my every waking moment since it
first sprang forth over an Italian dinner with a charming Norwegian couple I
met while selling shoes door to door in a quaint Chicago suburb in order to pay
for the last semester of dental school for my formerly estranged daughter who
was able to forgive me and make amends with past transgressions after she
learned her mother never told me she was pregnant and that we broke up mere
days after the surprisingly tender night of conception. I would never purchase a red bass but I must
admit the “fiesta red” model is mighty sexy.
There was nothing left
to do except watch El Chacal de la Frontera 19 times in row, taking pauses
between each viewing only to listen to the entire Funkadelic album One Nation Under A Groove (one of the
stankiest funk albums of all time!). I will find you Yamila! I
swear it! No matter that it takes an eternity!
I cry every single day
and much of the time I have no idea why.
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