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.