I wish she would put too much sugar in my coffee

I’ve watched David Lynch’s Eraserhead 17 times this week, typically twice a night while drinking a couple cups of repulsive NesCafe and then once in the early  mornin’ while eating a hearty breakfast of eggs over easy, bacon, toast with grape jam, oatmeal with brown sugar and a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.  It is equal turns inspiring and disheartening to watch this feature film, Lynch’s debut.  The inspiring aspect is obvious but it is disheartening to know I will never create something anywhere remotely as good for I am a talentless hack.  I frequently return back to how much I hate myself but thankfully I have alcohol to numb the pain and a bottle of sleeping pills ready for when the time is finally right.  Still, I encourage all cinema fans to seek out at any local conglomerate and promptly purchase Criterion’s beautiful Blu-ray treatment of Eraserhead.  Once purchased, I encourage you to take your loved one by the hand, watch the film and then weep while realizing what a cheap illusion love is and how so many of us willingly fall into this trap of sentimentality where we burn our ambitions and fuck to rid ourselves of the pain of the inherent futility in our existences.  Then seek out Lynch’s other films if this is your first because they’re all a hoot!  Then let me know which ones you liked the best and rank em’!  

It’s tough to choose but I think that Kanye West’s 2013 album Yeezus may be his finest work.  Its such an audacious album.  

I am eagerly awaiting some sort of pre-order news on Nocturnal, the latest album from Spanish band Amaral.  This band and their music have meant so much to me throughout my formative years I feel the need and have the desire to support them financially as much as I can.  This seems unusual in the sense that it is a certainty that I am essentially living in (much deserved) poverty and they are likely rolling in the (well earned) dough.  Yet my greenbacks are all I have to offer them.  I am desperately hoping for some kind of giant deluxe obscenely expensive vinyl box set thing so I can charge it and go even further in debt on my credit card.  Oh I love this group so!  And I love their new tune Llevame Muy Lejos because I feel that way every single day of my miserable life.  How one man can be so ugly and such a failure as yours truly is mind boggling.  Also, I fucking love the cover art. 

But honestly, the song Carne y Hueso…that song alone I’m sure saved my life many a time.  There are those out there who probably despise that song now because of this knowledge but it is true.  Thank you Eva.  Thank you Juan.  

Speaking of vinyl I just saw that David Bowie’s 1995 album 1. Outside is having a re-release on this format in November.  This is the first time the entire album has been put to wax as the initial release – which had the word “excerpts” added to the title – did not contain the full album proper.  Those who know me best know that I never wear matching socks after developing a crippling superstition during my days in minor league baseball but they may also know that one of my all-time favorite albums is 1. Outside and I have devoted much of my life to collecting every last piece of merchandise related to this work from posters, singles, remixes, tour memorabilia and the shirt off Bowie’s back which I bury my face in each night, my body trembling, towel at my feet.  This gorgeous vinyl release would be the jewel in my collection and I will do anything, kill anyone, to make sure there is a copy in my fat greasy hands come release day.  

I purchased the new issue of Northeast Sportsman the other day as it had a feature titled the 7 Deadly Sins of Albacore Fishing but I’ve not yet been able to read it.  I think very soon I’ll kick back on the balcony of my posh flat and tear through the periodical like rabid dogs tearing through decomposing flesh of a man who lost his footing on a steep hike and tumbled down to jagged rocks below where he was summarily bludgeoned and impaled, blood, organs, piss and shit creating a perfume too potent for the pooches to resist (especially once the fabled outdoors winds picked up and carried the scent to the sanctity of their den).  Fishing has long been my passion and once my injuries heal I look forward to wading back out into the stream where I can again be one with nature and forget the rampant absurdity that plagues me here in this caustic nest of urban decay.  

I saw two movies at the multiplex recently: The Green Inferno and Everest.  I won’t divulge all my thoughts on The Green Inferno just yet because while sitting there in the theatre by myself (save for a morbidly obese woman who’d very responsibility brought her young daughter or niece or kidnapped child to this flick) and watching the end credits I was struck with a brilliant idea for this humble blog.  I won’t spill the proverbial beans on this idea quite yet in part because the surprise is just too juicy to give away so soon and also because I likely will lose interest and won’t do it.  I will say that I love Eli Roth’s enthusiasm and passion for horror films and I owe him a debt for many flicks I would not have discovered without him but I sadly believe he is incapable of crafting a truly great horror film himself.  Please forgive me for saying that Roth, I am but a slug in the sun, not worthy of consideration.  Everest was okay, about as forgettable as Black Mass but probably with a few more tense scenes on the whole.  I would recommend John Krakauer’s firsthand account as published in the book Into Thin Air before this movie (except for those who don’t like to read).  

I was blessed this morning with the trailer for the new movie Momentum starring the great love of my life Olga Kurylenko. It looks quite bad which means I almost certainly would have seen it anyway but Olga’s presence just guarantees I will be there opening day and/or night.  I need you Olga, please don’t ever leave me….

The Muppets: Pig Girls Don't Cry (Pilot) episode review

I write this in the present tense to give it more urgency; just one of many experiments I conduct with prose, such is the nature of a wordsmith.  

I pour myself a shot of El Jimador Silver tequila which I purchased from the corner gas station earlier that afternoon.  I know I bought the shot glass at an airport and even though I cannot recall which I am reasonably certain I ate fried chicken there along with a few French fries and some lemonade.  There was a delightful stewardess on my flight who was celebrating her birthday and I wished her many happy returns with genuine affection.  She was a dark curvaceous woman squeezed into a navy blue skirt and flesh colored pantyhose.  At the time I wondered how aromatic her feet would be after a long hard day of flying but knew I would never be granted the privilege of finding out.  Note that I opt to use the word “stewardess” instead of “flight attendant” as I am in something of a male chauvinist pig mood right now.  I recall with numbing clarity a young feminist I knew in the days of yore that once put on a seminar teaching men how to properly use their penis.  I was unable to attend and I will forever regret this because even all these many years later I still have no idea how to use mine.  I sometimes wonder where that well-spoken and sometimes unshaven feminist went to though I suspect I will never fully have the answers I so desperately seek.  We can only learn so much and live, isn’t that right Thomas?  You are a wiser man than I by far.  

I sit down on my bourgeois sofa after preparing a vodka on the rocks and I turn the channel to ABC HD.  I often feel those who do not take advantage of HD channels do not deserve to live.  The first thing I see is a commercial for the American game of football which I have always found dreadfully boring.  Then there is an advertisement for a local news program.  

The show opens up with Kermit and I am immediately filled with delight by his appearance and voice.  I have been a fan of Kermit since an early age.  The first joke plays well which is a good sign.  I’m not a huge fan of the title credits but that is an easy thing to get over.  Or is it?

The post opening credits scene is pure delight, I am seeing these old friends again.  I look away briefly at the red stains on my walls.  Spaghetti sauce?  Wine?  Blood?  I can’t remember at this point but I detect no strange smells so I suppose it doesn’t matter too much.  The “meeting” joke with the band is the first slightly racy thing here.  I love it though.  I laugh out loud with the best of them.  Walter the Eagle always terrified me as a child but now I can handle him.  I would like to have a drink with Kermit.  I wish I could be his friend.

Gonzo’s first gag is great, just fucking perfect as the kids like to say.  I rewind and watch it 11 times because I love it so (why don’t you just commit suicide already).  The old guys never get old.  “It’s too late for me, save yourself,” says Kermit, great line, he sells it with aplomb and I really get the sense these are seasoned pros who know how to sell comedy, know what style suits them and have been together so long they can write these bits in their sleep and they’ll still turn out great.  Talk to God…there is some great subtle humor here.  I think most can relate to Kermit’s sentiments regarding Miss Piggy and the reasons their relationship ultimately failed.  My life is generic trash.  

Suddenly the most ironic thing I’ve ever experienced happens as they announce Elizabeth Banks is tonight’s special guest.  Savvy readers immediately recall I only just watched her in the Brian Wilson sort-of biopic Love & Mercy.  I throw my shoes across the room, scratch my forehead hard enough to draw blood (not a lot thankfully) and laugh uncontrollably at this strange occurrence for roughly four minutes before I down the rest of the vodka and pour myself a glass of warm white wine.  

I am not a huge Fozzie fan, never have been.  But I don’t mind him.  We have a strange relationship ship ship.  The first commercial break hits and I immediately see an ad that I think has some new pop stars whom I don’t recognize because I’m stupid.  Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just end it all, save the world a lot of grief.  What follows is an ad for Target and I immediately recognize the utterly gorgeous model Denise Bidot.  I am madly in love with her and I write her a letter for every day we are apart.  I have no interest in Hotel Transylvania 2 but I don’t begrudge anyone for wanting to see it.  I need to learn more at Pheonix.edu and maybe finally complete my education.  I’ve never had my nose done and I don’t know why this thought occurs to me at this very moment.  Actually, I do know why but I’m far too sheepish to cop to it.  People in this town are too hard on cops.  God I hate people so much.  Another Target ad starts and there is Denise Bidot again, I think from now I will write her 2 letters for each day we are apart.  She is stunning, I can’t get over it.  She makes me feel like I’m swimming in a lake of fire even though that analogy makes no sense given what I’m talking about.  I love Target; I bought soap – liquid and bar – there yesterday along with a pack of Topps Series Two 2015 Baseball cards.  I still don’t have a Coco Crisp or a Billy Butler.  What the fuck is wrong with me?!  I’m not going to watch Fresh of the Boat or the Middle or the Goldbergs or Modern Family or Blackish.  I hate comedy.  

Kermit is talking to Tom Bergeron, amiable co-host of Dancing With the Stars.  He’s got a lot of natural charisma.  Kermit’s diss to Scooter about Bergeron is great.  Nice cross pollination by ABC here.  Fozzie’s story interests me the least about this episode.  The jokes only fly about 50% of the time.  By calling so much attention to the fact that he’s a bear it begs the question why similar occurrences don’t happen with the other Muppets all day long.  It’s a can of worms.  I can’t tell if he’s growing on me.  

The stuff in the writer’s room is classic.  Oh how I love Gonzo and Rizzo.  I am filled with happiness right now.  Kermit’s new girlfriend Denise is interesting, more subdued than Miss Piggy though he definitely has a type.  I am not funny or successful.  Why do I even exist?  Is it just to be a worthless failure?  My name is Renee.  If I told you my name is Alice, I’m lying.  Fozzie’s phone call to Piggy is good though, that definitely plays.  I’m eating granola and raisins right now.  I swear anyone and everyone has great chemistry with Kermit, he’s just such a pro and natural that he brings the best out of everyone.  I forgot Elizabeth Banks is in the Hunger Games.  This new subgenre of teenagers in mean worlds doing heroic things does not appeal to me, I’m sorry.  Just end it already.  No one loves you.  END IT END IT END IT END IT END IT

Goosebumps looks like utter garbage, doesn’t it?  I think I read the first 60 book or so in the series.  I’ll probably be there opening night, stone drunk and having not showered in days.  I love milk, this commercial is right, milk is great.  Some commercial about mortgage stuff, buying houses is so dull but there’s some kind of Muppet thing here.  I love all types of Spaghetti sauce.  Who is that voice that keeps whispering from the fireplace?  I don’t like comedy. Agents of Shield looks sufficiently blah.  The eyes are the window to the soul.  So what does it mean if one gouges out his or her own eyes?  This question occurs to me at least once a minute.  

Back at last!  Please more Rizzo and more flirtatious Rizzo!  Perfection!  Animal is always a delight.  Kermit’s reaction when Banks shows up early, wanting to see Piggy, this is brillian frog timing.  The entire scene with Banks and Scooter is a highlight of the episode.  Scooter is sometimes underrated because his performances are often not as flashy but he spins comedic gold here and Banks plays off him with zeal.  I see Imagine Dragons and I almost fly into a rage and slice my ears off because I do not like this band at all.  But they seem like nice guys I suppose.  Rizzo again!  Yes!  Please give me more.  I don’t understand some of the fan reactions, I am loving this program.  It is far better than my life.  

The ultimate revelation of Miss Piggy’s problems with Banks and the footage of the breakup between her and Kermit is heart wrenching and surprisingly realistic and relatable.  I did notice Kermit putting on a bit of weight as was mentioned toward the end of the episode but hell, haven’t we all?  

Aflac, Pan, children’s hospital, whatever.  I space out during the performance by Imagine Dragons.  I switch over the Athletics/Rangers game and watch two hours of my team blowing a great lead (but with great aplomb, that last inning gave me just enough hope that it sweetly stung when it all went up in smoke).

I will say someone would have to be a deeply psychotic PC nutjob freak of nature to be upset by any of the humor in this show, at least in this episode; maybe upcoming episode will showcase S&M torture scenes, heroin addictions, gang violence, gang rapes and incestuous proclivities.  I also say that this is no racier than the original Muppets Show which I viewed every week back in the seventies with a smile and fresh bruises on my face.  I liked to watch the show before starting fires.  

This has done its job very well as a first episode, establishing our characters, setting up arcs, letting us know the formula.  A few things don’t fly and I’m not sure for how long this format can successfully work but I am pleased so far.  If I am still here I am going to happily come back next week to watch more, such is the nature of wisdom.  

253.7/295

It's dialectic physics!

At long last, after days of delays, I was finally able to finish Brian De Palma’s 2002 feature Femme Fatale.  It’s far too early to say this with any degree of certainty but this may fall on my list of favorite films of the first decade of the aughts (or however it’s spelt, the 00’s).  Will it gain a much coveted position in the hallowed top 10 of that decade?  Only time and at least 59 more viewings will tell for sure.  It’s been a strange and surreal journey with me when it comes to DePalma.  As a child I hated the man and his Hitchcock cribbing and flamboyance but now as an older gent I find myself loving his stylistic choices and the wonderfully idiosyncratic nature of his work.  I recently purchased 9 additional feature films of his and I look forward to viewing them in rapid succession while also hastily jotting down (suicide) notes that I may further investigate his technique.  

So the new Muppets show premieres tonight at 8:00 PM on ABC and I’m so excited I think I’ll drink a bottle of wine (with a bottle of sleeping pills) before it starts!  Truth be told, I’ve been a lifelong Muppets fan and though I have severe doubts over this show’s longevity I have made a sacred vow to stay with it whether it lasts for one episode or one billion.  

Still, the program is already the source of some controversy as an offshoot group of the American Family Association who go by the sinister and sexy moniker One Million Moms is currently boycotting the show.  They are concerned that parents may unknowingly allow their children to watch this show believing it is appropriate for youngsters only to see the tykes transformed into raving lunatics, rapists and serial murderers when they discover the show actually has a bit of crass (for Muppets) humor.  In short, it’s basically another worthless group of folks with too much time on their hands complaining about whatever in a foolish attempt to fill the emptiness in their feeble lives.  I maintain it is the parents responsibility to monitor this sort of thing – especially when letting their kids watch something in a primetime slot – but naturally there exists countless parents who are lazy sacks of shit who don’t actually giving a flying fuck about their kids (who will grow up to be just as useless) but I guess personal responsibility means nothing and that is why we have such asinine groups as this whose boycotting will rightly accomplish absolutely nothing.  I’m thinking about joining this group though because I know their intent is just and their heart pure.  It’s a societal thing where all sides are damaged.  I’m even worse though!  I have nothing better to do but right about them.  They’ve already won.  I lose (just end it already). 

I will say that I love mothers and if these one million have so much free time on their hands I invite them to my posh flat for a night of mirth of frivolity!  Now that it is Halloween they should all go purchase Wonder Woman and Catwoman costumes, throw in some nurse and demon costumes too along with countless pairs of RHT pantyhose and high heel shoes (the hosiery and shoes should be worn for at least a day before coming to see me) which can be purchased at any local conglomerate.   I will provide the dialogue and scenarios and we will have a grand time up until the moment I weep uncontrollably for my chronic impotency (no one loves you).  

I spent a decent chunk of a recent afternoon watching Apocalypse Now Redux followed by the classic theatrical cut of the same film.  After years of deliberation I safely conclude that the original is the superior cut.  Dennis Hopper is still my favorite part of the thousand different versions.  I love his work.  He is so incredible!!!

Through the wonders of technology I was recently able to listen to the new Amaral song Llevame Muy Lejos. It’s a driving rocker and another I will blast out of my woefully inadequate car speakers while patrolling the mean streets.  The lyrical content pleases me on this track and I can strongly relate to many of the sentiments (I’m always a sucker for anything related to parallel dimensions).  Perhaps most joyous of all for me was the tune’s extended coda which is beautiful and daring.  I eagerly anticipate their new album and plan on buying 9 copies.  

I recently saw Black Mass and though I was delighted to see Johnny Depp do something other than what he’s been doing for the past decade or so I must say the movie itself was not quite the modern classic many were hoping for.  It was a fine film but I felt it lacked focus, neither working as a cold and detailed procedural a la Zodiac or as a stoney gangster flick like Goodfellas.  Thinking back to it now I would be hard-pressed to isolate any performance or scene as great and that definitely makes it a disappointment for yours truly.  I assume it didn’t help matters that I arrived at the multiplex fall-down drunk (or maybe it did!).  

I’ve been listening a great deal to Mos Def’s 1999 album Black on Both Sides these past few tortuous days.  More than a decade and a half later the stuttering jazz beats and Def’s stuttering flow remains every bit as effective as when this disc first dropped on an unexpected and doomed world.  Oh how I thirst for intelligent rap and hip hop and how infrequently my thirst is quenched.  

I recently watched Love & Mercy, the sort of biopic on the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson starring Paul Dano and John Cusack as the musical maestro.  I feel content in saying the movie was able to overcome many (but not all!) of the usual trappings of the dull and dreaded biopics that are dumped on us each year.  I would give it a hearty recommend and plan on watching it every morning before watching Lane Bryant fashion show videos on YouTube (Good Lord Ashley Graham, you give me a thousand heart attacks in a row!  My love for you makes me weep!).  

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the B Boys 1966 album Pet Sounds is a gorgeous piece of work and the flick captures with great sun-drenched beauty compelling composites of its curious cornucopia cacophony and at turns chaotic, caustic and canny creation.  I will say this however: I am sick to death of Paul Giamatti and maybe I’m complete jerk but I do not see the greatness so many ascribe to him.  I just don’t see it!  I never want to see him in another movie for the rest of my miserable worthless life!  But yeah, everyone should buy Pet Sounds but I know many will never give it a chance cause they’re dumb.  I feel sorry for those who limit themselves; I look down on them with my upper lip curled up in disgust.  “Trolls,” as my idol Charlie Sheen would say.

  
Well, I’m off to buy some soap – both bar and liquid – now and then I’ll have a quick session with my psychic Miss Cleo!  I’ll see you all in the funny pages!

From the diary of John Z. Wilson, July 9, 2002

Dear diary,

I am a bad and selfish person.  Someone told me this and I’ve done my best to erase it out of my mind because the person who said this to me is someone from whom I never wanted to hear these words.  

But I stopped and considered things and realized how right they are.  I am no longer capable of kindness of empathy.  Everything that everybody says or does sends me into a fury.  I love going to sleep at night.  Mornings are always the worst part of everyday but honestly any moment that I’m awake is the worst part of everyday.  I have not thought about any family or friends in quite some time, it’s difficult to remember when I considered them at all. I want to eat myself. I want to cut off little parts of my body and eat them.  

I just re-read those words and they sound so ridiculous.  I can’t parse anything out anymore. I can’t make sense of anything.  I can’t even explain my meaninglessness or the constant searing hatred I feel.  Do we even know anybody anymore?  I don’t think I’ve been faithful to anyone a single day in my life.  I am the biggest hypocrite I have ever known so why can’t everyone see it?  I need something inside of me at every moment to make me feel better.  I tried talking to you but that didn’t work because I don’t think you wanted to listen to me.  I lied awake all night so many nights and tried talking to you but I never once received a reply.  I have everyone I’ve ever known and i told you things I never should and my feelings were laid bare and they were scary ugly disgusting things and no one ever should have seen those.  Why can I never control myself, not once?

I learned this all from mommy and daddy but I can’t blame them anymore.  What I do and what I have done is not their fault and it never was.  And it’s all right there in that red book so it doesn’t really make any sort of difference now anyway.  They should have been nicer to me though.  They should have pretended they loved me then maybe this awful thing wouldn’t have grown inside of me.

I feel so dizzy all the time and I think I reached inside and everything was awful.   It only comes around once a year yet I was still able to fuck it up in the most grandiose fashion.  You hate me now like everyone else.  I think I’m done with everything now. I’ve fucked up enough thank you very much, time to cash in my chips.  

I’ve long kicked around the idea of suicide in my head and all the different ways I could make this happen.  The image of my lifeless body hanging from the ceiling is a particularly compelling one.  I especially like the idea of leaving my window open and my bloated corpse perhaps swaying back and forth a bit if it’s a windy day.  I have an abundance of neck ties in all sorts of colors that I never use and it seems possible to fashion something that would support my weight.  

There’s also the classic of just buying a gun and blowing my brains out.  I like to imagine how the wall would look behind me.  Maybe there would be something artistic about my blood and brain matter splattering against the wall, sort of like an abstract painting.  And again, the window.  It would be sort of neat if flies got in and were getting stuck in my blood as it became more like syrup.  My diseased brain seems to be the center of all the problems I cause so in a way it makes sense for it to sustain the most punishment.  A giant hole would certainly prevent future complications.  I wonder if I would stick the barrel in my mouth or against my temple or under my chin?  I think the mouth is probably my preferred option as the phallic symbolism is somewhat amusing.  Plus, taste is such a fine sense and it would be nice to really feel the physical instrument of my destruction in that way, it would be more intimate, an oily metallic taste would not be so bad as the last taste, would it?

Cutting is too harsh, I’ve never been good with knives and what if I didn’t go deep enough and passed out beforehand or something silly like that?  A bottle of pills and a bottle of wine is maybe too soft, too clean.  

Oh but I do so absolutely love the idea of finding the highest building and jumping off the roof!  Haven’t we all wondered what flying feels like?  That would have to be closest feeling to freedom I could ever have.  And then my body would strike the ground and my head would explode and my bones would be turned to powder and my insides would spill out all over the place and then everyone could see and be 100% sure that I was dead.

Then they could start dancing right there in the streets and throw parties and drink and make toasts to the fact that I am no longer there.  What a joyous moment that would be. 

If I do it inside though I wonder what album I’ll put on for those final special moments.  Or maybe I’ll put on a movie or both.  And what will be the last thing I eat?  

Sometimes I cry on and off for several hours and I don’t understand why.  I’ve made a terrible mistake but I know how to correct it. After the parties are over I would really rather that no one think about me anymore.  Unless once a year they want to visit my tombstone and spit on it or piss on it.  I don’t think I would mind that so much.  

The Chitterling Circus

At some point today I will have no choice but to watch my surprisingly crisp bootleg of the great 1955 Turkish film Ucan Daireler Istanbulda, better known to American audiences as Flying Saucers Over Istanbul.  Then I will watch La Nave de Los Monstrous twice in a row while falling in mad love all over again with both Gamma and Beta and perhaps afterward I will watch a film with Yamila Herrera, maybe El Chacal de la Frontera.  Yamila, where are you?  Who are you?  Why did you come into my life?  You are the great mystery behind everything, the piece that doesn’t fit.  

These films make me happier than a mangy dog rolling around in a steaming pile of pig shit.  Or for that matter happier than a mangy pig rolling around in a steaming pile of dog shit.  Take your succulent pick my juicy followers for the hour of truth is nearly upon us.  

I was about to murder this messenger of doom when he obliquely informed me that although I consider myself to be the alpha male in this universe there exists another who is coming and I will not survive his arrival.  I know there is a doppelganger of me out there somewhere in the ether and I am doing my best to locate and execute him.  

I snapped my fingers to the tune of the thing that comes into my room at night and takes me away.  I refer to it as a dream and I the dreamer but this is nothing more than a defense mechanism to cope the suffocating terror I feel when it arrives.  I wonder what I did to deserve this but I suppose that doesn’t really matter.  

There is a dragon at the end of this summer and I have seen it in the park.  No one else sees it but me.  Families have picnics, children run and jump on the playground and no one sees this beast lying in wait right there in front of them.  Does it want the children I wonder?  I always see everything and am always helpless to stop anything.  

That rope hanging in front of me looks mighty tempting, especially against the lovely black and white backdrop.  What kind soul crafted this noose for me?  Oh God, there’s that thing in the doorway again.  I think it’s smiling.  Tears run down my face.  Why do I keep seeing it?  Please don’t come any closer.  I have a little chair.  I can reach the rope.  Please don’t come any closer.  

I think very soon I am going to purchase the first season of the Bill Bixby, Lou Ferrigno Incredible Hulk TV series.  I will then watch several episodes with a drink in hand, alternately laughing and bursting into tears and pausing on occasion to stare at the moon in fear.  I cannot recall a time when the moon did not frighten me.  I say a quick a thank you every night that passes when I cannot see the moon or when it is only a tiny crescent.  I can handle the crescents but anything half or full is terrible.  I think I will also purchase soon an album by Paris (the rapper, not the city in northern Paris).  

I wonder if I will put on the album Lodger in those final moments.  I think that would not be such a bad selection.  People can trash on it all they want and I’ll fight anyone in the streets who wishes to throw down about it but I say I prefer Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Strikes Again to his original The Dark Knight Returns.  I just love the bombast, the outrageousness, the sheer audacity and ridiculous gonzo nature of the work.  The art is also much more beautiful, particularly with Lynne Varley’s bizarre color choices.  I encourage any fanatic of pop art or great experimental works to check it out.  

There are probably very few things in the world I love as much as fishnet stockings.  Even the words themselves bring me such undiluted and admittedly perverse delight to say or type out.  Oh fishnet stockings, you truly are a thing of beauty and wonder.  Your very existence has made my life worthwhile.  

It is very possible I will eat a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich today but I have not yet made up my mind about that particular business.  I am keenly aware that I do not have any milk in my refrigerator and this is most disconcerting as it is my beverage of choice with such a meal.  Perhaps a trip to the store is in order.  I will paint on my best smile and zip up my best suit of skin and hope no one looks at or speaks to me.  

Trumpets blare inside my head as I relive all my failures.  It is too easy to feel nothing as your life flashes before your eyes.  I keep trying to escape this dinner but all efforts are easily thwarted by forces far beyond my understanding or control.  Doors only lead to other doors; an endless maze of dark wooden passages.  There are people inside the walls and there is an endless applause before any show has even started.  Someone keeps whispering in my ear but I do not know who they are.  

Mommy doesn’t love you and she never did.  Mommy had a temper and she said bad mean things and made you do bad things.  I don’t think mommy liked children very much and I think she maybe hated herself too.  Mommy was ugly and scary and her eyes were hard to look at and you always tried to avoid them.  She sat by the side of your bed.  Mommy was even scarier at night.  Her eyes would bulge and her face would contort when she screamed.  Mommy hated you and told you to go rot in hell.  Ugly, mommy was so very ugly and scary and there was always that flight of stairs nearby but you were too little and scared.  Bad day for everyone.  I hope you’re fucking happy for the fucking mood you put me in!

I did not sit on any flagpoles today.  

Dimensional Gates and Crystals

I began the day as any other: eating farm fresh eggs and a McIntosh apple.  No, that isn’t quite right.  The eggs were indeed farm fresh but my fruit of choice was actually strawberries.  There’s nothing quite as good as strawberry as the kids like to say.  Suffer the little children, am I right?  I topped it off with a mug of steaming hot coffee, black.  While consuming my breakfast I watched a bit of MLB Central wherein actress Alyssa Milano was a guest, discussing her new clothing line (which features some baseball themed garb that is actually quite cute) as well as her thoughts on the Dodgers lineup.  I’d forgotten how physically attractive Milano is and I never even knew she was a baseball fan so my morning was already productive as I’d been reminded of an important fact of life while learning a new one.  During a commercial break I also saw that Outback is now featuring some special involving steak and unlimited shrimp.  Maybe I should invite Milano out and we can consume aquatic life, slabs of undercooked red meat (as is my wont), and weak but appropriately priced alcoholic beverages while discussing America’s pass time.  I would tell her my favorite part of the game is the 7th inning stretch because it has a kind of lackadaisical poetry to it.  We’d laugh like old friends and she would order more shrimp and I would order more drinks.  Seeing that smile on her face I would finally feel like a real person, like I’m worth a damn (but you’re not).  

Immediately after my hearty breakfast I proceeded, via the magic of online resources, to watch several episodes of Sid and Marty Kroft’s Land of the Lost.  Savvy readers are no doubt wondering if I am speaking of the syndicated 70’s series or the 90’s revival.  It may shock some to realize that I am speaking of the latter.  It can be truly said that back in the day during those long lost golden years of the 1990’s I had a crush on cave-girl Christa played by Shannon Day.  Keep careful watch of my word choice for my feelings were not the same as the deep heart wrenching love I had for Star Trek the Next Generation’s Deanna Troi (played by the lovely Greek actress Marina Sirtis).  It was a simpler kind of sentiment yet looking back I can see the potential was there for true love.   Perhaps if I’d allowed those feelings to blossom instead of burying them with deceit and compromise I would not be the conflicted (you’re a complete ugly failure) man I am today.  I will continue to pray that some brave company – Shout Factory perhaps – one day puts this series on digital video disc or – dare I hope? – blu ray that I may turn the lights down low and marathon watch 26 episodes over the course of a single night; bottle of El Jimador silver tequila in one hand, standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun in the other (just do it).  Still, it was an unexpected pleasure to view these episodes with the mid-morning sun.  I found the narrative to be as charming as ever and the theme song as divinely rocking and acidly metallic as I remember.  The dinosaur special effects (by the Chiodo Brothers if I’m not mistaken) are beautiful and make me truly feel as though I am lost in an alternate dimension of prehistoric proportions (just end it already, no one cares now,  no one will care once you’re gone).   

Whilst furiously pumping out my purple prose I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly.  Originally, I had no plans to purchase this latest release by the young Lamar however my beloved friend Willem Joseph Montejamo who is the most ardent and slavishly devoted fan of rap and hip hop I’ve ever encountered in my (failed and worthless) life exchanged federal reserve notes for the disc on its first day of release.  I’ve been brushing up on my street vernacular recently so I can say with some degree of certainty that he was “bumping” these tunes in his automobile for several consecutive months afterward.  The aforementioned fact that he and I are lifelong bosom buddies means that yours truly was privy to several listening opportunities while sitting in the passenger seat, watching the dirty streets grow dirtier and revealing to me their own rich tales of police brutality, child abuse, rape and murder.  Montejamo and I discussed at greats lengths the often controversial merits of this specific genre of music though no obvious conclusions could be reached.  Originally, I attempted to find some parallels to this release and D’Angelo’s Black Messiah from earlier in the year but this quickly proved to be the wrong approach and was almost dangerous in the way it gravitated toward an intellectually reproachful brand of criticism that I try not dabble in.  Eventually I would go on to purchase this disc where it would become an occasional soundtrack to my excision of tortured musings (hang yourself with your own neckties).  I can say that hearing George Clinton’s beautiful voice on the opening track, coupled with the frequent if slightly derivative funk leanings, makes me want to do nothing more than listen to all those great old P Funk recordings.  Still, it is so far a largely rewarding, messy and challenging album.  Further analysis is necessary on several different fronts.  

I began watching Brian De Palma’s 2002 movie Femme Fatale last night but only viewed roughly 15 minutes before stopping.  It seemed like a quality film and I was enjoying myself but an opportunity presented itself for the consumption of alcoholic beverages and I could not resist.  If memory serves I drank vodka on the rocks, an Aqua Velva, a Coors Light, another vodka on the rocks, a glass of wine and another Coors Light (you should have drank yourself to death).  I am not proud of that list.  Nor am I not not proud of it.  But it is accurate and I have always prided myself on accuracy.  

What do you mean by that?

My morning began with an epic trip down to Ye Olde Conglomerate that I may purchase Prince’s new album HITnRUN Phase One on compact disc format.  Naturally, I bought 9 copies.  Of course this was after I drank a steaming pot of black coffee down at Harry’s Diner (let me remind you of a couple rules of that place: 1. You don’t fuck with Harry’s money.  2. You don’t fuck Harry’s girls).  I seemed to be persona non grata there but for the life of me I can’t figure out.  I mulled this over whilst walking back to my car but it was more or less forgotten by the time I reached the first cross street wherein I saw a decrepit man with a crude cardboard sign begging for money.  I regarded him largely with indifference.   As I drove I listened to Parliament’s 1978 album Motor Booty Affair.  It is classic liquid funk.  I seem to be noticing more people on the streets these days begging for money.  I’m not sure if there has been an increase in this business model as of late or if my powers of observation are simply heightening.  Sometimes I judge without thinking.  Sometimes I wish to know their stories.  I love people who feign sympathy but make no effort to assist.  Is there a reason everyone in the world is a hypocrite?  I was in Albertson’s the other day buying underarm deodorant when I heard the song Hypocrates by Marina and the Diamonds.  It was my first time hearing the song and I thought it was beautiful.  It’s on my list of albums to purchase.  

I was watching Richard Donner’s 1978 classic Superman: The Movie the other day and when I saw during the opening credits the words: “Editor Stuart Baird” I nearly snatched my Sony Playstation 3 and flung it out the window while simultaneously dropping a massive load of steaming excrement into my crisp clean jockies.  Cinema fans know Baird has had quite an illustrious career as editor but they may also know he is responsible for Star Trek the Next Generation’s simultaneous nadir and denouement in the form Star Trek Nemesis.  He is a truly despicable man.  

There was something in my home last night but I was too afraid to look.  Please don’t make me look.  I knew it was in the bedroom so I closed the door and stayed in the living room.   I saw a blur of it; a pale naked shape, it moved in silence.  I could not sense whether it was masculine or feminine and I honestly don’t know which would have been more frightening.  I did not want to see its eyes and I did not want it to touch me.  Where did it come from?  Was this something I had manifested?  What is happening inside my brain?  

I think of you and I imagine us dancing inside a mansion that was constructed several hundred years ago.  Am I drunk?  Something has invaded my mind.  Your body is stitched together like pieces of rag dolls that have been sewn and re-sewn.  Yet you are still beyond compare.  We dance and spin around the room and it feels like we are floating.  I have done hideous things against nature.  There is no possible way you could love me.

This thought echoes inside my brain again.  There is no possible way you could love me.  This has occurred to me several times over the past few months.  I’m not sure whether it is most prominent on Sundays.  It is a hypocritical, self-serving notion.  Is this really what I think?  It is easier to fail when I already believe all is lost anyway.  What a pretentious fool I am.  I constantly believe I am beyond saving.  I wonder what the true nature of this is.  I can’t bring myself to use the word “you”.  Is it wrong to imagine you in the figure of a woman?  Can you be made of water in that way?  It is the only thing that makes sense in my diseased mind.  Can one love so powerfully without falling in love?  And there’s an indescribably selfish part of me that wonders why I should be robbed of that fun.  

Critics be damned, I love the digital look of Michael Mann’s 2009 feature Public Enemies.  It was a bold choice for a period piece and it pays off in spades as far as me is concerned.  It is a beautiful looking film and I wish more directors would take similar chances.  Marion Cotillard is a fantastic actress.  I will now look forward to any flick in which she stars (though the director should have asked for another take or two for her death scene in The Dark Knight Rises, SPOILER ALERT!).  

I think in a little while I’ll watch the 1958 Argentine flick La Venenosa starring Mexican actress Ana Luisa Peluffo.  Is it possible that I could fall even more in love with Ana Luisa Peluffo?  I don’t see how but I’m willing to give it a try.  

It was not until I arrived home that I realized I’d mistakenly purchased the Full Screen version of Hollywoodland on DVD as opposed to the widescreen version.  I considered taking my own life in that very moment.  I’ve listened to that new Prince album 3 times in a row now.  Should I keep going?  There is some fantastic and sumptuous bass playing on this disc.  I’m to listen to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly first.  I finally broke down and bought it. 

I am constantly drained by having to look at everyone.  I often wonder why everyone is staring at me.  I have seen pictures of pale and freakish looking people holding up signs that say “Thank You Lord Jesus for President Trump” and I am at once amused, disgusted and very very afraid.  There is a startling amount of ugly things in this humble world.  We must all be a devastating disappointment.  It must be painful just to look at us.  My head hurts and I think I will go cry for a very long time now.  

I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that I’ve watched the movie Lost Highway about 60 times in the last 3 months or so.  Proud?  You bet I am.  

Prince: HITnRUN phase one album review

I woke up bright and early this morning on my bathroom floor.  I wiped the dried vomit from my face, changed my clothes into something more flannel and hopped onto the old computer, very cognizant of the fact that today marks the release of Prince’s new album HITnRUN phase one.  I knew you loyal readers would be chomping at the proverbial bit to hear my thoughts on this latest work so I turned the volume up and set fingertips to sticky keyboard keys in an effort to adequately explain my thoughts. 

Right away I must question the logic of starting the album with clips from other famous opening P tracks like For You, 1999 and Let’s Go Crazy.  Similar to the clips at the end of Musicology it can be dangerous to remind the listener of such stellar tracks while premiering new untested ones.  Still, MILLION $ SHOW is a bubbly attention grabbing track, so bubbly it’s like a pleasant version of spilling a gallon of shampoo in my eyes.  I love this melody.  Initial impressions are that it makes me happy (though maybe not as much as headscissors).  It’s a bit shocking that Prince almost doesn’t sing at all on this song aside from a little rap like part in the middle.  Instead the vocal parts are given to Judith Hill who does have a great spirited voice.  Its such bright song, already stuck in my diseased brain.  The Kid always does right with the openers and this is no exception. 

SHUT THIS DOWN sees Prince pushing his voice in the style of My Name is Prince; a refrain also reminds me a bit of Chococlate Box.  I can hear all the production techniques that controversial co-producer choice Joshua Welton has added to this sound.  But I quite like them on this track, save maybe the sampled voices.  Holy shit, that bass solo is incredible.  This is a stormer and creates a great one-two (fruit) punch to start the album with. 

AIN’T ABOUT TO STOP really sounds nothing at all like Condition of the Heart but the way he starts off each verse kind of trembly in his higher register makes me think of one of part of that other song.  This is a very crunchy tune, carrying over the braggadocio of the last song.  I’m not sure how much I like the middle eastern style synth (I’m guessing it’s a lot) but I’m pretty sure I don’t like the pitched low vocals that repeat the chorus line.  But then I love the nutty bridge breakdown thing with the bass and synth and all kinds of goo-dads and slee-slorks going on!  Damn, this sounds great with the volume high and me slamming my face into the wall until I draw blood.  Surprisinglyaggressive song.  Sometimes some good ol’ fashioned chaos (and disorder) can rescue things.  There are eccentricities which I appreciate (a la the extended version of Partyman, still one of the all-time classics) and I sense this song will grow on me like fungus, especially when taken in context of the whole album. 

LIKE A MACK comes on and this is slick, hot funk!  I’ll blast this is in my car while on the way to a Latin themed club.  I love those horns!  Damn I love dem horns!  I love that guitar part too but it is a bit of prototypical guitar funk that I sense Prince could do in his sleep!  Maybe he recorded this song while sleeping, which would be wild.  I dig that ending too, give me horns and synth and smooth funk and I’m happier than a mangy dog rolling around in a pile of steaming pig shit!  After more listens I love this tune.  Great modern Prince funk.  All these guest stars originally gave me pause but Curly Fryz (who the hell?!) actually kills on this one.  And holy moly does that chorus guitar and horn hit me like a sack of hammers!  Easily my favorite so far and I’ll add it to any mix and play it all my future dinner parties. 

I didn’t look at the title of track 5 and when the Purple One started it up by asking “Are you ready?” my first response was oddly not a pointed answer to his question but an intrinsic reaction of noted familiarity.  Had I not heard this beginning recently on another song?  Then I remembered what I’d forgotten (the boiler is going to explode!): For some inexplicable reason HitNRun phase one features a remix of the song This Could be Us from last year’s Art Official Age.  Those who know me best know that was one of my favorite tracks from that disc and unfortunately I do not care much for the remix.  There is a nice searing guitar solo on this version but I’m not sure it fits with the vibe of the song – even the weird compromised vibe of this version.  Overall this tune kills my buzz a little bit.  Though while I was in my kitchen pouring myself a glass of orange juice I listened through the walls and realized this remix does fit well on this album.  I’m still not into it though.  I don’t force anything. 

The next song also starts with a question but this actually brings my buzz back like I’d just chugged an entire bottle of Patron Silver.  Savvy fans know that FALLINLOVE2NITE (Darn it’s hard to write out the titles to his songs) actually premiered on New Girl after some Superbowl or some game or something one or two years ago.  I have loved that tune ever since and feared it would never make its way onto an album proper.  So imagine my perverse delight to find it here!  This is the perfect purple panacea for the pain that the previous pandering and pestiferous remix brought to my perforated (gages) ears.  It’s just such a cute tune, sort of throw-back and yet futuristic at the same time.  Its jaunty, it swings, it’s simple and frothy.  It’s so light and airy it almost disappears entirely but while it’s on I love it to pieces.  I’ll listen to this while driving through the city at night.  My second fave on the album.  The cute Camille-esque voice is always a winner (where I am so obviously a loser). 

Holy mackerel, X’S FACE starts up so heavy with that synth and falsetto.  Not sure how I feel yet, the groove might be a little too angular.  Okay, now he drops the register like I drop after being set on fire and I can feel it a little more.  Still, that groove is almost Nailsish but it’s not really going anywhere.  Or is it?  Oh, but that little breakdown is real nice.  Not sure….

Man, HARDROCKLOVER lays it on great and thick with the guitar heroics and the trademark screams.  I’m not sure I like the production, a little modern and arena yearning but this song does hit that spot of sweetness that makes me crank the volume and drink a six pack of Chucklin’ Cherry Squeezits!  Those guitar solos soar into the clouds!

Which is a fantastic segue to the next song MR. NELSON, which sounds to all the world like a remix of Clouds from Art Official Age.  Clouds was another of my favorite tunes from that release so at least he’s retreading over the ones I dig.  And unlike the aforementioned This Could be Us remix, this one makes me feel good.  It’s easier to think of it more as a musical segue than a flow blown song but I hear some Caribbean xylophone do-blads and disco hall grooves.  I can blast this no problem.  It almost reminds of the extended remix things on the Diamonds and Pearls singles, maybe something from the Cream remixes. It works quite well as a followup to the hard rock of the last track.  Never underestimate the importance of sequencing in an album.

        

1000 X’s & O’s is straight R n B which is not always the easiest genre for yours truly to get into as my background is full of scorching death metal and polka laden Germanic folk songs.  Good gravy, that bass is groovy though.  I am going to learn that line and play it for 47 hours straight.  I think this song will sound lumberjack slammin’ once its off my fifth rate computer speakers and on the old Sony Stereo.  It’s only ok though. 

JUNE.  Finale.  Sweet and refreshingly understated.  Great slow jam.  Must be the pasta. Oh, and I can’t tell if that little bass flourish is a bass guitar or synth bass but it makes me drool.  

I have no clue how thes thoughts may change over the coming miserable years of my worthless life.  The excitement of a new Prince album is always an intense thing and my feelings shall surely morph and evolve though who can say if is shall be for the better or worse?  Does the “phase one” in the title mean more music of this type is to come?  Or will he will lose interest and move on?  Will he keep Josh (and 3rdEyeGirl) around or try something or someone new?

Overall this album feels almost like a mixtape or a flipside to Art Official Age and that’s not a bad thing.  It’s a fast, intense slab of electronica, funk and rock.  It felt a bit like downing an extra sugary fruit drink and jumping around for 40 minutes.  The album starts so strong and beautifully and kind of flubs in some parts but overall I find this an exciting work.  It does not immediately strike me as a major album in his catalogue but it does strike me as a compelling and interesting one.  I’ll take it!