Nothing is more important than awards

Weeks ago I purchased Funkadelic’s new 3 disc albu, First Ya Gotta Shake The Gate.  It was a fairly impenetrable project at the beginning what with 33 songs showcasing a mélange of styles.  Yet as with all the great artists, most anything George Clinton related rewards with patience and repeated listening.  And so it has been for the past many days I have been bumping (as the kids like to say) this new muzak in my motor vehicles, at the office, and in the privacy of my own posh flat.  It is searing, thick and very potent funk.  I like the song where Sly Stone sings.  It is good. 

I watched the movie The Grandmaster the other day.  I love martial arts flicks.  I think I may watch it again tonight but I have a strong urge to watch Beetlejuice again since I’ve watched it every night for the past 4 nights so maybe I will do that instead.  I also want to watch La Nave de Los Monstruos again.  That is such an amazing movie.  It makes me hang my head in shame at what a worthless sack of garbage I am.  Lorena and Ana.  You.  Are.  Everything.  Commandress…please.  I am yours. 

Whilst writing this I’m listening to Iggy Pop’s album American Caesar.  Truth be told it’s never been one of my favorite Pop releases but I so love his cover of Louie Louie.  He always kills this song in concert too, just brutally fucking murders it.  I love Iggy.  His 2013 disc with the Stooges was great. I hope he never stops making music.  I also hope Dario Argento is eventually able to make that Sandman (not the comic book) movie starring Pop as planned.  I love Argento!  If someone was sticking red hot needles in my eyes to deduce the identity of my favorite Italian horror director I don’t believe I would say Argento but I still love him.  His early giallos are simply fantastic and Suspiria is a rightful legend.  I even dig his most recent work despite its tendencies to vacillate between terrible and awful.  But I don’t really mean that, not the harsh criticism anyway.  He’s a super creative soul.  I love his work!  I’m a mongoose!

Thalia’s newest album Amore Mio which was released last month is such a corker of a record!  I absolutely love it.  This artist – more than just about anyone I can think of – always makes me feel genuinely happy and somehow comforted.  Many are the times where I’ve nearly lapsed into a fit of uncontrollable rage or suicidal frenzy which was then quashed after putting on one of her discs.  I’m listening to this album right now in fact.  Por Lo Que Reste De Vida is so damn beautiful.  Thank you so much for giving me this music. 

I know I must resign as my feelings have grown increasingly fierce and inappropriate.  I always proffer the handshake, hoping and praying for something more.  Everything is black and white during those scenes but this always precedes a glorious explosion of color.  I can smell the ocean.  There was such intimacy during that moment, I am certain you did not feel it.  I know I would be forgiven but it doesn’t change anything.  I don’t want to be forgiven.  I want a sweet embrace, to see you when I wake up.  Everything is smile.  Smile is everything.  Inside the blue.  I never saw color before.  I never heard a voice before.  The most beautiful instrument. 

Savvy readers will note that David Fincher’s Gone Girl did not make it onto my list of my favorite movies of twenty fifteen.  It didn’t even receive a pitiable honorable mention.  However I still purchased it last night at a merchandise store.  The technical prowess on display in that movie is stunning as is to be expected by anything Fincher touches.  I know I will revel in its beauty for years on end. 

I was in a diner with someone and people kept coming in who were wearing sandals.  A few of them wore socks and sandals.  Such an ugly shoe and style.  I wanted to chop off my own hand and slap them with it, letting blood spurt on all of us.  That would have been quite a sight.  I’m sure someone would have paid me 57 million dollars to go through with that but as usual I let my cowardice stand in the way of true justice.  I guess you never really loved me.  Even that night when you destroyed my automobile and made me tear up at the prospect of a biblical age with no children it wasn’t really love on your mind, at least not romantic love.  Yet I loved you.  I know I did. But I don’t really know what love is, do I?  Everything I say and do is just copied from something I saw in a movie or read in a book.  I don’t really understand concepts like love.  Neither do my friends. 

Very soon we’ll be able to break ground on that new power plant project of mine.  I’ll probably show up wearing my mother’s wedding dress and knowing that everything is okay.  I’m not in the mood for antics today.  If I try and force it I’ll just throw up all over myself.  I often believe I was a fish stick in a past life. 

Reality hit me like a literal ton of feathers yesterday when I realized I’d neglected to record Lucha Underground.  Fortunately I was able to return home earlier than expected and was able to record it in the nick of time. 

I’ve been thinking about Cher recently.  Mysterious letters keep appearing in my mailbox.  Come on over and cry with me, she said.  Come what may, come to see, I’ve spelled out words of death and despair for you.  Come to witness and beg to feel, all this consuming lust that keeps us alive. On the path I’ve cut the wires, I’ve severed binding ties with saints and pillars.  Every time I close my eyes there are explosions of reason invading my thoughts. 

I want that video which recorded all my hidden desires.  What are these strange drawings on my notebooks?  From what part of my brain did they originate?  If you saw them you would put your hand to your mouth and we would never talk again.  I wonder if I’ll wake up in a panic again tonight.  I wonder if that same individual will bang on my door in the middle of the night again.

I just want the visual, the feel, the visual, the feel, the visual, the feel, the violation and the love.

Congrats to Michael Keaton on his Oscar nomination!