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I ate a bowl of spaghetti for dinner the other night.  I also watched two spaghetti westerns which arrived in the mail sooner than expected.  It was very much a pasta oriented day.  Sometimes I like to imagine myself living in the old west.  Since I am very much a coward these imaginings typically end with me being gunned down after shamelessly begging for my life.  Actress Loredana Nusciak from Sergio Corbucci’s 1966 western Django was so darn beautiful and compelling.  Sometimes I fantasize about being in the old west and being rejected by her or women like her.  Then I go to an old saloon and drink all my problems away. 

It is possible dissension will take place at some near point in the future.  If this happens I have already made up my mind.  Truth be told, there was never any doubt to begin with.  Was it inevitable there would be infighting?  I think so.  Or maybe I like to think so.  I always feel so comforted when things take a turn for the worse because it proves my instincts – nay, my central core – as being correct.  What would I do if things ever stayed on the up?  Still, that question has no relevance to the current situation.  I’ve always known which side I am on.  I will follow you until the very end. 

Such sweet sexual splendor. And oh what delicious suffering.  All four of them shoot me with a taser and as I am on the ground with teeth clenched and writhing in agony and they laugh. 

The way you gave my hand that little extra squeeze I knew you wanted to kill me. 

Let it be known that I predicted it here: one day Shakira’s 2005 album Fijacion Oral Vol. 1 will be regarded as one of the all time greats.  I have written extensively about this release in the past and every day I become more convinced of my assertions.  The variance and MASTERY of so many styles combined with lush instrumentation (with the late Gustavo Cerati featured on a couple tracks), some of her finest vocal work and poetic lyricism all combines to create a glorious work of art; sometimes somber, sometimes pulsing, its explorations of love remain as poignant and intoxicating as ever.  I’ve also been listening to the Ramones and Scott Walker lots and lots lately.  I ordered Trickfinger’s new album the other day and I will diligently wait until it is delivered to my posh flat in a small brown cardboard box.  Then I will listen to it on a second rate stereo system.

Estrellita was eliminated from Baila Si Puedes last night.  It has been a glorious month or so following her progress and salivating over her every dance just as I salivate over her every wrestling match.  Please mock me.  Please humiliate me and strangle me.  Oh delightful hosiery.  I consider once more the phenomena of objectification and my own role in this.  Ultimately, I can only conclude that my own sexual desires are repugnant and inklings of some deeper evil lurking within myself.  Yet, I still love these desires; I still foster them and watch them grow.  I dance with them in the pale moonlight and I wake up beside them, full of hate but eager to take them with me wherever I go. 

After years of ever building pants wetting anticipation Hannibal season 3 finally begins this Thursday.  I am especially curious to see how the latter half of the season tackles adapting Thomas Harris’s original 1981 Hannibal Lecter novel Red Dragon.  It should be no problem at all to surpass Brett Ratner’s 2002 effort (all due respect to Mr. Ratner, his direction was surefooted if a tad pedestrian and that flick suffered from many more problems) so if any comparisons are to be made they shall be with Michael Mann’s stellar 1986 film Manhunter.  However the series has thus far proved so distinct that aside from an occasional homage to these aforementioned adaptations I would wager that any need for a comparison shall not arise. 

Is there a P Bass in my future?  I wish I had all the answers.  If so, I hope it is in the classic and timeless sunburst style.   

5 months of progress was shattered in the space of a single second.  One second was all it took to fall in love all over again.  Why do I always need a muse?  I don’t want to kill my inspiration but this inevitably happens.  Chew me up and spit me out.  I want you to throw me away.  I love being used by you.  My heart is a shameless whore. 

All my life I’ve been searching for a frame worthy poster of the flick La Nave de los Monstruos, one of my all time favorite films.  I feel I’ll be searching for the rest of my life. 

Lately I’ve also been thrilling to John Carpenter’s new album Lost Themes.  It is synth-laden instrumental greatness and I like to drive around at night with this as my soundtrack, imagining I may be about to do terrible things or – even better – that terrible things may be about to happen to me.  I’ve been on a Carpenter kick as of late, re-watching the original Halloween and The Thing and In the Mouth of Madness and buying Shout Factory!’s beautiful blu-ray releases of They Live, Escape From New York and Prince of Darkness.  All have great scores and I adore how he handles the music himself.  Carpenter’s artistic integrity has blown my brains from my skull! 

If I could I would go back in time and travel across dimensions until I found one where actress Maria Victoria really is the character Inocencia from the classic Mexican TV series/feature film La Criada Bien Criada and I would convince her to marry me through a potent mixture masculine charm, above average wit and several lies about my finances.  Once married I would politely ask her to always wear her maid outfit while doing everything in my power to hide from her the daring and intricate games I play involving forgery, extortion and the occasional improvisational murder.  I would always offer her a foot massage at the end of the day and hope she would belittle me while I undertake this action. 

Discussing the Lecter mythology has reminded me I desperately need to purchase the score to Red Dragon.  Good ol’ Danny Elfman.  I’ve been a mega fan ever since seeing Tim Burton’s Batman way back in the summer of 89’.  I was dating a vedette from Queretaro, Mexico named Sandra at the time.  We’d met at a club where she was performing during one rainy night.  I’d just lost several thousand dollars in a card game with a salesman from Cleveland and was drinking a Singapore Sling paid for with borrowed money to dull the pain.  As though she were bestowed with supernatural abilities she seemed to sense my despondence and promptly danced over to my table, giving me a far greater vantage point of her routine.  I was immediately taken by her coal black hair, her dark tempestuous eyes and the phenomenal curvature of her enormous seamed-fishnet-stockings wrapped derriere and stunning thunderous thighs.  Her smile was full of warmth yet also showing she completely understood and loved the mighty power she possessed over men.  I bought her several drinks with more borrowed money after her show was over, we began to chat and I was soon completely under her glorious south-of-the-border spell. 

We went out for several months and even though I knew I would never be the one to truly capture her wild heart it was an honor to be by her side, if only for a brief time.  How I yearn for the days of yore where she would return home after so many sweaty dance routines, slip off her strappy silver high heels and promptly use my face as her footrest.  It can be truly said that I loved her. 

I recall the night we went to see Batman at the midtown Cineplex that she wore a Batman t-shirt tucked into impossibly tight cheetah print pants that were under savage and wonderful strain of ripping and knee high leather boots.  She jiggled and I sauntered into the theatre and we left in awe of Burton’s gothic pop-art vision, Anton Furst’s glorious German expressionist Gotham City, Michael Keaton’s unexpected coiled intensity, Jack Nicholson’s gleefully unhinged lunacy, Prince’s ubran funk themes and of course Danny Elfman’s propulsive, enigmatic and utterly anthemic score.  We’ve been Elfman fans ever since and though we broke up soon after this flick left theaters we’ve remained in touch and I view that time as amongst the happiest of my life. 

So upon receiving this Red Dragon score in the mail I think I’ll throw it on the ol’ stereo, take a shot or four of El Jimador silver tequila, throw an old used (not by me) pair of pantyhose on my head and dance around my room, holding back simultaneous tears of depression and screams of ecstasy.  I have now ordered a “Like New” used copy from someone’s private collection via amazon.com; such is the combined wonders of time, finance and the written word. 

Sometimes I feel like my mind is diseased.  I close my eyes and grind my teeth and cannot make sense of anything.  It is highly unfortunate human beings were given the ability to breed.  I suspect we are all in store for a very harsh awakening.