My head is lemon meringue

I land on my face when i'm eating raw fish and spin to the world like a giant cub dish and the color is blue and the pain is dry and a stuffed panda bear might break down and cry. 

Well you don’t know him so don’t pretend like you did and I see a blue cross and a little baby bib and the mouse is fat like a giant top hat and my dick is hard like a baseball bat and I spit in your face and eat attack with a mace and I’m dancing like a shirtbird all over the place. Cause I’m gangsta glam and I’m lean like a duck and I wear a wedding dress while driving a truck, I’m gonna build a wall

I need this rough house.  Oh God my head is hurting so much.  They’re doing things in there and I can’t stop them anbymore.  I fell charms all over my body.  Pleaes somebody help me pretty please with sugar and cherries on top.  What do these words even mean any more.  Who was that fuckinb person in the street and why did they want to destroy me?  what did I ever do to them?  Help me somebody.  Wher eis all that food I ordered?  There is something on top of my body my body my body.  My body is so disgusting but not quite as ugly as my face.  Now it is not just m yhead that hurt s but my nbeck too, my neck hurts so much.  That book is so weird I don’t think I want to read it naymore. 

The next stop is Naples.  It’s time to mess with the cat. 

If I knew then what I know now I probably would never have purchases yellow cake.  Why did you have to complain so much on the way to the store?  Do you rememnber al lthe addresses?  She was so nice. T hat was the only reason.  I still want to thank her someday.  My hands are not working as well anymore but my brain is stronger than ever.  I liiiiiiiive!  I liiiiiiiiiiiiive!!! 

I don’t want my face to explode.  Can all of this really belong to me?  I’m automatic for a weasel. 

I’m a champion for peace.  Make no mistake.  I’m chomping at the bit.  Glass floors are opening beneath my feet and I am willingly falling in.  oh yes.  Lets not pretend this is going to end any other way.  Layers of filth.

NYPD bonehead!  Gimme the guns you fairy godmother!!!

One day I hope to star in a Bollywood film.,  maybe then I can do happy and thinking I accomplished something with my life

Im in a much happier place right now than earlier so if you any of you dear people were concerned about yours falsely please don’t be alarmed.  Everything is under and A okay.  I keep thinking about the sun machine.  That is so marvelously perfect.  Perhaps I’ll throw myself a little party later where I will drink and be merry. 

That’s right.  It was an aesthetic difference between a case of want and a case of need.  I gave that answer twice in a 40 minute session but the instructor never approved.  
You know I can fit you in my arms.  If only id’ been there in france during the same time.  perhaps we could have created a masterpiece.  Between us, he is probably hopelessly insane.  There are a lot of empty water bottles on my coffee table right now. Fuck do you have to be so fucking immature every single motherfucking time?!  it isn’t possible.  Or is it?    
Is the first appearance of the sun goddess?  Only by name, yes?  She has used many monikers and already appeared a thousand different ways.  
I have such lust for this blackout experience.  I think it all has to do wit this age old battle of the artificial against the organic and all the possibilities revealed when the two are combined.  Oh sweet delirious suffering.  
I fear it’s much too late to be reborn. 
Don’t balk about my mother.  Mary first reported to space aliens inside on a hamburger shop at oh fortyseven million hours 12 where she was seen by a title card with plaque issue.  .  She reported fearing that nothing less and nothing more than a snowman made out of leaves was going to spell a word improperly and this was going to result in the squinty expansion and contraction of the universe inside a jar of expired mayonnaise.  She then promptly fell outside of palm tree where she countered with a  sharp right and produced too many deifying principles of age old mathematical cream pies..  She stated that bilateral punches to the gut were probably the chief reason the Russians were closing in so tightly on the glassy interiors of the five bandied rangers that were currently lurking just outside the holistic ranges of detection except with respect to sharply yellowing and ever declining ratios of atomic rules as the approach the psychiatric barriers of consummate sexiness.  The pain in her back was also particularly strong and constant.  
Oh, were you talking to me Leopold?!  I was too busy writing in code and speaking in toad to fully appreciate your advice.  I will regret that misstep for the rest of my life.  
Glass was never intended to be a place where we serve custard to the exclusion of meeting with white wine.  The trophy wife should involve so much more than horizontal relationships and a weak, pseudo analytical attempt to understand  our place in the world.  We can’t survive metaphysically without a corporate sponsor in deep inside our hearts to ensure that everything is squeaky clean and dirty and mean.  That’s what I mean by vulcanized  A hocus pocus positions a birch to experience the mod’s presents and to show the world what it means to swerve in and around the postal code of long lost civilizations..
I think I’m reayd to fight now!  Where’s the person who first taught me how to read that I may blanket the sky with the glorious stars of ready made saints!?  

Don't look at the

There is crushing silence.  I can’t help but notice all the walls are painted blue though of course at night they appear quite black.  There is an absence of dialogue and beyond that a deep sense of responsibility that makes everything awful.  I think Grace has left us a rather long time ago.  Sometimes I’ll put on a cowboy hat and step outside onto the balcony and I’ll sing a song to myself and I’ll be reminded of another though I can’t quite place the where or when or even the who.  I simply feel incredibly lost and stymied by own uselessness.  

There is ugliness inside everything.  There is an animal crawling and clawing around inside my brain.  The room smells like rotting flesh and I think that visible movement is nothing more than maggots crawling around.

There is a tremendous amount of glass on the table and it is largely a compensatory measure.  Fucking mindless cruelty.  Why is everything painted in such garish colors these days?  There is no sound more repulsive than that of writhing sweaty bodies pressed against one another, mindlessly moaning and exposing all their favorite urges.  Spirit has become so deformed.  Oh, how she wishes everyone would simply stop talking to her.  Can’t she just stay inside her room all day without looking at anyone, without having to speak to anyone?  I wish everyone would just stop talking to me.  

Cut me out of this red dress, I badly need to make it to the church on time.  Why are there so many chimes inside my head?  Someone is doing things in there and I can’t get them out.  He is envious of those things which have fallen so far and it is twisting inside his gut.  Now is the time to alter our minds.  Let us not pursue anything of any value.  Please help me to lose the last shred of self-respect to which I was foolishly clinging.  

It is very cold when he wakes up and he is shaking.  Can he just vomit this out of his system?  Is the time right for him to begin drawing on the floors?  Would marker show up clear enough on the carpet?  She and he both wonder out loud if he has ever had an original thought in his life.  Rest assured, it is well oiled and fits very neatly against his temple.  

When he looks at himself in the mirror it is not uncommon at all for him to think “wow, you are a supremely ugly man.”  

There is a natural absurdity that seeps in which gives generous credence to ruinous origin.  It is strange but sometimes when I open my eyes all I see is fire.  Perhaps I just need to be honest with myself.  It is quite frightening all the things that keep staring at me from outside the window.  

Mornings are the absolute worst where I am forced to catalogue all of my fears and then put them inside a neat little decorative box that I wrap up with a bright pretty bow.  There is something like a dagger right between my eyes.  I like to take pratfalls as many times as possible, especially if I can fall down an open sewer hole in the process.  

Yeesh, I’m far too busy being a dumb motherfucker today. I don’t understand a single bit what it means that I woke up inside this horrifying red room.  

At lunch I prepared for myself a turkey on wheat sandwich.  It was the kind of turkey that comes in one of those cute little packages and is really only sufficient for one sandwich.  I was nearly out of mustard and this came dangerously close to provoking a fresh wave of tears but there was enough for one slice of bread.  I had a generous amount of mayonnaise but I was careful not to apply this spread too liberally to the other slice.  I then neatly placed the turkey on the mustard slice and covered it with the other, standing back to admire my creation in the light.  I’ve met thousands of people who do not enjoy the crusts on bread but I have long maintained the crust is the very best and purest part.  I then poured myself a glass of apricot juice, no ice.  Truth be told, the sandwich looked so good I almost did not want to eat it.  But eventually I succumbed to the overpowering hunger and in a mere matter of minutes I had consumed the sandwich entirely and was washing it down with the sweet and refreshing juice.  

Brains splattering.  

I sat down on my bourgeois sofa at some point and began biting my nails.  I turned on the fan because I was hot and tried to read from a book about ancient Chinese history (why did I not gouge their eyes out?!) but I ended up reading the same page 9 times and I still could not understand it.  I began grinding my teeth very hard despite the pain already present in my jaw so I switched to biting my tongue and felt a little relief when I tasted fresh warm blood.  Someone in the wall behind me laughed me really loud and I jumped a bit and then started to slap myself on the face.  I think maybe I wanted someone to hug me but I am not sure who.  Maybe someone empathic, yes.  Please.    

Where are all the amusing things?  My head hurts so much.  I think they forgot to give me my milk today.  

This is excessive misery that we desire for ourselves.  What pathetic and desperate things we are.  I told you to set up some boundaries early.  I think I did.  Maybe that never happened.  The air in here sure is suffocating.  I’d like to listen to some music in a bit, something soothing I think.  Please stop slamming that fucking door.  Where have all the good times gone?  A day in the life of lunacy.  My utility belt would likely have plenty of sneezing powder for just such occasions.  Let’s all devote ourselves to worthlessness, shall we?!  

He keeps walking alongside a river and it is a rather comforting thought to imagine jumping in.  There will come a time when he has to look back and he must wonder if this is really what he wants to see.

I'm an idiot

Iggy pop’s new song Gardenia is fantastic (I must learn the bassline) and beautiful and makes me right excited for his new album Post Pop Depression set to drop in March.  I must say this album is badly needed right now and I am deeply grateful for this surprise. 

Honestly, Nite Flights by the Walker Brothers has to be one of the very best songs ever.  Is it accurate to cite it to The Walker Brothers or should I just say Scott Walker?  I think technically the former is correct but we all know the latter is the real truth.  It’s just a brilliant and beautiful piece of work with some of the purest lyrics I’ve come across.  I like to drive around at night while listening to it.  It has some great covers too! 

My hand is going to fall off. 

These first two new episodes of The X-Files have been simply sumptuous!  I feel like a child again, anticipating each new reveal and analyzing every moment, sneaking peeks at the swimsuit and underwear pages of my mother’s copy of Newport News during the commercial breaks and not fully understanding the joyous reaction those photos inspire in me.  Those were the glory days of youth and I’m reliving them in full force these days.  What a return!  Two old friends and we’re together again. 

I recently purchased Troma’s deluxe DVD release of the 1976 Australian exploitation flick Mad Dog Mrogan.  Upon starting it up and watching the first couple seconds the first thing I said was “Holy mother of God, this transfer looks like absolute dog shit!”  I would bet my bottom bitch and bottom dollar that this was a VHS bootleg copied to disc.  No matter.  True, I would rather have a version that didn’t look like someone had pissed all over it but I’m just pleased as punch to have another great Hopper film in my collection.  It should also be known that director Philippe Mora is the man responsible for adapting Whitley Strieber’s bestselling true story alien abduction account Communion to the big screen.  The flick of the same name starred Christopher Walken and left me a terrified quivering mess as a child though it did not scare me quite as bad as the book which resulted in a lifetime of sleepless nights. 

I listened to the album Lodger several times yesterday: once during breakfast, once during lunch, once during my intense sweaty workout at the gym and then again during dinner and again while re-watching Mad Dog Morgan.  I love this album. I also listened to it the night before while I finished the Philip K. Dick novel Ubik.  I’m a big Dick fan but I can safely say I understood very little of that book.  I think I’d like to read a book about mathematics and chemistry soon.  Then maybe I’ll just throw myself in the river.  I’m a squid.  I listened to Lodger again this morning.  Thank You and you so much for Lodger. 

I think I’m having a mild cardiac event. 

I ate already prepared meatloaf and macaroni & cheese for dinner along with a tall glass of water (straight up, no ice).  While eating I couldn’t help but ponder my own rampant uselessness but, to be fair, this happens a great deal in my life.  While tuning into the nightly news on Telemundo I was devastated to find that Maria Celeste (swoon) had opted to wear a pant suit instead of her usual skirt and hosiery laden ensemble (how often I’ve dreamed of being the slave made to worship those feet after she’s had a hard frustrating day of getting to the truth and reporting the news).  I wept silently to myself and wondered how this already putrid day could become any more rancid.

Season 2 of Lucha Underground premieres tonight.  I’m so excited I may have no choice but to take my own life shortly before the premiere to quash my debilitating enthusiasm.  Avid followers of my tortured work know of my passion for professional wrestling and also know of the deep pain and frustration I’ve felt over the lack of truly great product in the past decade or so.  The first season of Lucha Underground was a head-exploding masterpiece and I’ve often lain awake at nights these past few months imagining how season 2 may go.  I think I’ll buy a new box of Cap N’ Crunch cereal along with a big tall bottle of frosty goat’s milk (cause cows are for calves) and then relax on my bourgeois sofa while watching the premiere seven times in a row.  I’m madly in love with Sexy Star and Catrina.  I need them in my life.  Though I know they would never give me the time of day because I’m a disgusting diseased animal.  These sentiments have been uttered before.  I am surprised by nothing.  My pleasures are simple.  My desires are so impure.  I want to savor this precious moment right now before the premiere.  If Lucha Underground follows the same pattern as just about everything in my life – devolving into a crushing disappointment – than I want to remember everything about this wonderful time that comes before the inevitable crash.  Though is it possible that this can stave off my life’s curse and stay its incredible course?!  Please let it be so.  I just love it so much!  It’s a beautiful show!  I can encourage anyone – lovers and haters of professional wrestling alike – to watch! 

The Berlin Trilogy and many before and after saved me and will continue to live and thrive inside of me until I am dead.  And now I have the 100 before me.  I wonder if I will be able to get through them all.  I think I will chop them up and draw from a hat.  Cat People is a fantastic fucking song from a fantastic fucking album.  I can’t believe how long I metaphorically slept on that song.  I’m such a fucking idiot.  I now suddenly have a craving for strudel with cream.  Maybe I’ll wash it down with a tall frosty glass of milk or maybe with an espresso with two teaspoons of sugar. 

I’ve been eating a lot of pomegranate lately, great fruit.  I’m in the mood for love.  Few things please me more than gorgeous cinematography.  Denier is one of those things, especially when combined with the lead singer for Ecuadorian group Encanto Latino.  Oh wow, all that dancing under that hot sun…oh please….  I remain a slave to my passions.  

Am I somehow somewhere getting my footing back?  "Damned if I know," he said. 

My night will likely culminate like so many of nights: me bursting into tears while watching La Nave de los Monstruos.  

I'm suing a skin tightening company

You’re asking me two sets of questions simultaneously at two different points in time.  He’s singing about the washing machine while someone else is preparing for the unfortunate task of cleaning out the bullet hole in my cheek.  It was great to see you take your well-deserved place at the head of the class.  A woman’s scream sounds much more frightening than that of a man; we were both in agreement on that one.  

All at once there was this entire new world of beauty opened up to me.  I think they may have started somewhere on French streets.  In an instant I see everything in stark black and white and there is a woman with angel’s wings and she smiles at me and I am not scared.  I recall at some point I was flying very high above my home and my personality was disintegrating further with every passing second.  We’re bound in this despite all the brilliant wordplay in a newly minted foreign language. 

We were the children of disobedience.  My affection is always on the earth.  My sun machine is cutting up and there’s rampant atonality.  Dungeon works in service of favor and mellows all the secondary players.  I tilted three decades later; it was raining today as I disposed of my last crutch.  

I saw myself as a stranger and then I vanished soon after and this development I found quite disturbing; such sweet thing inspirations, having sex in the shadows.  I liken it to killing myself in a thousand different ways.  After he broke himself up in Europa he was surprised to find his former self no longer existed, relegated only to a stark but not unattractive black and white.  

Let’s live in slavery and laugh about it.  There is nothing like Central American torture regimes.  I love them so much!  I so often choose to omit gratitude.  I did not realize the flirtation amid the strings.  Lord, how I should have blown my brains out for ignorance!  

I’m just staging in place to place and I’m really not so moody these days.  Love is more surreal than pain.  I’m in a blue room and there is a beautiful man nearby.  Please don’t tell them the secret; it will make me cry.  How ironic to hear the inevitable now and so alive; awful perfection.  

Fashion laughs me deadly in blue lights.  A siren’s man offers his life for the tint sight.  Flash in the pan, everyone is dancing to lifelines.  And crash flies over to tourniquet our brains with death rites.  

Needy hands twisting my neck with their downy pride.  And I last a full moon and teeter the train with a love blind.  One knockout in sight I preach to the figures of niche backsides.  I think my irises were quite purple at the nightclub. The cymbal crashes made him and her so excitable it was hard to contain the rampant murder in the air.  When two became one I instantly regretted never having the change to travel backward that I die inside the chants.  An iguana then crawled across my fucking coffee table.  A bottle of Bacardi died in my arms last night.  

In the middle of the night your excelencia is on a 10 minute express train right to the heart of downtown hell.  How many must I forgive in such a short span of time?  There was a refugee crawling around in her brain like a curious worm.  I suddenly found myself in a very alphabetical part of Africa where I was summarily terrified by own lack of inauthenticity.  

I’ve been in quite a bit of pain since I bought into the idea of a framed centrifugal rebirth.  The mechanics of these rich equations are certainly worth studying.  The pages may tax everything inside those beautiful green bottles.  

The darkness stays so solidly.  This profession was suspended in the air.  I pictured her with a knife pressed against something very tender but I was helpless to judge.  She showed herself so naked in the light.  This was something to be admired.  I am more insular than ever right now and all these brilliant faces are quite frightening to behold.  Lust is every bit the mighty architect I always believed.  

My hypnosis has planted the first flag inside an intestinal trap which I laid to catch the arch villains who were threatening every morning to cut the fleshy strings on the back of my eyeballs.  I have not yet centered myself against all these blue and yellow circles floating in the air.  I don’t think we will ever be able to finish what you charted.  Pills have attacked far too fiercely.  Aren’t you afraid of what will happen when you peel away the skin for real this time?

With that gentle tilt of the hand I am yours again.  Crumpled illusions lie on the floor now.  All that square feet is worth a shocking amount less than you actually believe.  He is breathing especially hard due to all this contact with leather.  I love you so much.  I am terrified by what will happen once one of us presses the orange button.  I think the next movement is going to be very sinful indeed.  

Everything was revoked in this new turquoise climate.  I have begged over and over again to not allow me to return.  I read blank words on the sign and straightened out my ego and my smile was quickly the ugliest thing in the world.  The sight of everything is a deadening kaleidoscope.  Counter melodies are pushing their way up through the mud and there is xenophobia hanging in the air like an old best friend returned after too many years away.  I think someone is going to be swimming inside pink flesh very soon.  

Please don’t make me go back anymore.  Please don’t remove any of this and please don’t look at me.  I woke up on red sheets and I didn’t know where I was and I was so confused.  There was pain everywhere and right now my head is being run through wires and there are things inside there.  I don’t want something to come and turn the sky black.  Where is Grace?  Something is about to be awful.  

(Part 10 of 10)

I find you in the finest of spirits.  

The finest of earth-made spirits is floating around the room.  You claim you do not yet know but it is all predetermined and deep down you know much better than you are letting on.  That is why you cannot stop smiling.  

When did this happen?  Was it surprising?  Was it beautiful?  That question hardly needs to be asked.  There was a symphony and later on everyone was lighting candles.  Sinful feelings come out but they do not last long.  This is a good and unexpected thing and shows genuine growth.  Underneath there is sadness but sadness is not a sin.  

They were quiet at first and everything somehow felt new again.  They were their original selves.  I am having false memories but they are wonderful.  I am an observer and a participant.  I see this truth unfold and I grow with it and experience every moment for the first time.   They are in the rain and her shirt is wet and he can see the color of her skin through the sleeves.  There is water in her hair and she is smiling.  

There is hot coffee later on but before that is a chance encounter whose charms have never relented.  They embrace with genuine feeling and the end result is predictable only to one.  It is so delightful to see happiness.  

What color are they?  I will never have the answer to that question but it seems more appropriate that way.   These neon lights keep swirling and passing us bye.  They are quite magical in a sense.  

Does she know that when they hug it is by far the greatest thing he has ever felt? A flash of jealousy again; ugly and mean.  What does he have to do to…?  But this time he is able to take hold of it and strangle it and stab its corpse.  There is nothing beautiful down the path he was taking.  

At the same time there is a traveler on a journey imparting wisdom of sorts.  And we find that grace is always available to us regardless.  We can be taken back.  Sometimes he imagines himself being hanged and his body eventually crashing to the ground where his stomach explodes and his putrid insides spill everywhere.  This is a horrid dream.  Even he can be taken back.  

But despite this vision, everything is happy here.  He accomplished what he wished.  He was never recording music but only water.  The number was actually around 10,000 (probably a bit more) and this was the price begging to be paid.  So many strange and wonderful symbols were manipulated to come to this point.  Fantasies dance with new life of strangulation and mocking and sweet caresses and tender words.  Purification has rather appropriately not erased this.  Even this morning there was another, new and glorious.  I think we are in a cage.   

 
This never dies.  It is always born again.  But perhaps it is born into something kinder and something more pure.  What is the best thing one can do for another?  We are always going to be surrounded by people wearing masks.  When you look at me you tell me how tired my eyes seem.  He will wish for that song to never end and already there is a new plane of existence forming where his wish will be granted.    

Don’t address me that way please, not me.  I have thought about this too.  Haven’t you noticed just the slightest touch?  The way language consistently fails us is something worth noting.  There is sweetness to this.  I have opened myself up, just a bit, but more than with almost anyone else.  Things do not always become gift wrapped.  But this will never be too far from my thoughts.    

I don’t think you knew of anything that was happening and it is very possible you have no desire to know.  It is easy to conclude this as the most appropriate outcome.  The only thing could happen really.  And now luck is no longer on his side, it stays with her.  That is a sweet and dizzying failure.  Things are now so deliciously full.  He can watch her riding off and dancing from various spiritual planes, coming into contact with ancient and mystical forces before reverting back to this human form.  Black and blue are the colors inside his eyes. 

 
Those words he said and the sentiments he expressed were refreshingly true.  And he is quite aware he owes that newfound genuineness to someone other than and infinitely greater than himself.  Thank You so very much.  His mind is so limited.  It would be lovely to retrace her steps and to absorb every word she already used up, to add those texts to the ones already lining the shelves and know they would always be there.  

I suspect it is too late to be reborn.  He watches her having a unique vision and making contact with someone who once birthed the universe.  Is everyone becoming one at this very moment?

There was trial and error like always.  There was the desire to come in out of the rain and the need to satisfy more than one bad impulse.  And then it was impossible to leave.  His thoughts were invaded and he was changed and things could never go back to the way they were.  But he is spent now.  His fingers are broken and his insides damaged and he can no longer think about fields of oranges or blood flowing like wine.  

  
But yes, they were real.  And that touch was real and now forever part of this time stream.  Maybe there is a place things can go on from there and the story continues and ends up beautiful for everyone.  Everyone is allowed to be happy in that one and there is not so much grey covering everything.  But this is quite enough for now.  

Leave no doubts.  When he said he was happy for you.  He felt it.  That made everything better.  

New year, new life.  

Are all these books wrong?!

I will say that this newest Suicide Squad trailer blew brains away in all sorts of great ways.  I’m excited for everything about this movie (except for Will Smith, poor me).  Jared Leto and Margot Robbie (swoon) look great!

The new Wonder Woman footage also pleased me but that is a post for another day.  

I think I’ll watch George A Romero’s Dawn of the Dead in a little bit.  Why the heck not says I?  Much of this stuff was written during another time entirely.  It feels so distant now. 

There is computerized voice on the telephone crying for help.  I am utterly terrified.  I am taping up my door but I truly think something is going to get me.  

Why is the apocalypse on everyone’s mind all of a sudden?  Is something going to happen soon?  That black planet looming just behind us…I don’t know if I can take that.  It wakes me up in the middle of the night.  Something is going to come from the sky.  I think our faces are going to be melted off while we are screaming.  

Scott Walker’s first solo album has so many gems on it.  I was driving around in a motor vehicle the other day and when I entered the McDonald’s drive thru to order a 6-piece Chicken McNugget meal I was struck by how great the arrangements and songwriting truly is on that release.  

Don’t we all have a fetish for women crossing their eyes?!  Is it just me?!  That just does it for me! 

I spent the afternoon watching Robert Dyke’s 2008 sci-fi classic Inalienable.  I purchased this film back in the day because it co-stars Marina Sirtis.  I follow all of Sirtis’s work and I enjoyed her part in this.  In fact she was recently in an Asylum produced picture called Little Dead Rotting Hood.  It was about as good as it sounds (maybe slightly worse) but it now belongs in my collection thanks to Ms. Sirtis’s presence (sadly only in the opening scene though it was a memorable cameo).  IMDB says Dyke is coming out with a new motion picture next year called Moontrap Target Earth which stars Sarah Butler who was inMalek Ahhad’s 2014 flick Free Fall which co-starred another hero of mine in D.B. Sweeney which means it also holds a proud place in my collection!  It’s not easy being me which explains all the gun licking I’ve been doing these days.  I fear I will spend all my life searching for a copy of Annihilation Earth.  I really do like Inalienable. 

You are going to be in everything from now on.  

What were you think about, Egypt?  Yeah.  If only someone would jerk the handle that I may die in my dreams.

There were two World War 2 movies released within six months of each other in that great year of 1998: Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan and Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line.  Ryan was the one that cleaned up at the Oscars but it is painfully obvious that Line is the far superior film and I truly feel that decades from now our grandchildren will know the truth.  

I recently purchased the recently released Criterion blu ray of Wim Wenders 1977 adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s 1974 novel Ripley’s Game (the third novel in the Ripliad) though it is important to note that Wenders retitled it The American Friend.  It is one of my favorite feature films of all fucking time and Criterion’s 4k color corrected remaster is sumptuous and beautiful.  I have it watched 7 times in a row every night for the past 5 nights, bursting into tears each and every time.  The two leads – Bruno Ganz and Dennis Hopper – do superb work and the lovely Lisa Kreuzer does excellent supportive work and brings genuine depth to what could have easily been a one-note character (is it sexist that I called her lovely?  She is!)  But I do want to single out Hopper for a moment: he has forever been one of my favorite actors and in a long zany career that includes manic performances in things like Blue Velvet, Easy Rider, Mad Dog Morgan, Speed, Hoosiers, Rumble Rish, Apocolypse Now, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and many others I may pick this movie as my single favorite Hopper performance.  It is big yet small, in your face yet subtle, colorful yet painted in stark black-and-white.  I say with 100% truth this performance breaks my heart every single time I see it and the amount of character building he does with comparatively little screen time is stunning.  Out of the five actors who have played Ripley (all greats including Alain Delon, Matt Damon, John Malkovich and Barry Pepper) Hopper’s may resemble the literary version the least but he is by far the most complete and compelling version realized on screen time.  

She turns and walks away in hong kong.

I’m writing about the CLF.  Do you understand what I mean by that?  CLF?  Am I talking about Cliffs Natural Resources Inc?  Hang out on that message board for a while if you desire some zany antics!  Or am I talking about something different?  Something far greater?!  Ah, the jade pendant is coming back around on itself yet again, how wonderful.  Do you give up?  

Britney Spear’s 2007 album Blackout really is great, super icy pop, still sounds about perfect.  Aphex Twin’s 1994 album Selected Ambient Works Volume II is also beautiful.  But I listened to Station to Station a few dozen times today.  How is it possible that he was so far ahead of everyone else?  And how so little has even come close – or how so few have even made the attempt – since then?  

I suddenly have a devastatingly strong desire for Trix cereal.  

One of the most delightful things I heard recently is that he rejected an offer from Coldplay to collaborate and appear on one of their songs, responding to them by saying about the proposed song, “It’s not a very good song, is it?”  This delights me because I am a small, sad petty man and I’ve always maintained that Coldplay are quite awful, one of the very worst.  

One of the most interesting things I heard recently is that Kanye West may be planning an album of David Bowie covers.  Despite West himself having not confirmed or denied, there are already articles appearing claiming West is the only one of today’s artists capable of pulling off such a feat and on the flipside there is an anti-West petition making the rounds in an effort to stop this from happening.  I have not yet made up my mind how I feel but I think the part of me that wants it to be true outweighs the part of me that does not.  I love at least a couple West albums. 

I am still awful; absolutely nothing has changed with respect to that.  I am likely more awful now than I was before.  Certainly, the world is more awful now than it was before.  

I'm cold to this pig

She finds herself alternating between a state of cold detachment and one of rediscovery.

If she is feeling terrible she returns to random New York streets where it is the easiest thing in the world to disappear.  She left a message there that no one will ever read.  Her lack of ambition is casting a spell and the next generation is going to be more lost than this one.  

She sees a kaleidoscope in front of the church windows.  She lit several candles even though there was no reason.  The statues were beautiful, their shape sumptuous.  I pray in two different languages and my heart was present in neither of them.   Glass has a strange hold her and she frequently imagines herself breaking glass in her room.  It is a fascinating thing to fill in all those missing passages and realize that something which was somehow considered lesser is now on an even keel with everything else.  Oh, it feels so good, she can even imagine she was alive during those times and sometimes feels alive right now.  I am not very anxious for the next.  

She is an architect of fear and they say she has no mouth.  Someone somewhere is very desperate to believe.  I drop my money in the bag and before I leave I look back several times to check on who may be watching me.  She dances inside the goldmine and her body is half animal.  

These feelings are slipping and cause a pit of guilt to swell inside her stomach.  I would like to hang on to my anger and look back on those other times with a blurry fondness.  There is too much joy for me to be sad forever but I am far more effective when walking along a lovingly crooked path.  I have no interest in the betterment of anything.  Someone keeps holding up a black book in front of my eyes and I am terrified to read any of the words inside because a part of me knows exactly what they will summon.  This voice says I am a whore.  The way it uses the word “morning” suggests something incredibly frightening.  Very soon she is going to whipping herself and exposing raw tendons.  When blood splashes on her wall it appears quite bright.  

Why has this already dried up inside of me?  I have cathedral eyes.  I have two sexes.  I imagine I will be impaled.  All these electronics are wrapping themselves around my brain and I don’t think that sharp looking man in the suit is truly whom he seems.  These recordings were made without my permission.  How she wishes everyone would stop sending her their lamentations and sympathies.  She sees them as false things and wonders what it is floating above their heads when they pray.  She tells them to sit back down at their desks and keep plying their meaningless trade.  When he is inside of her she feels no relief and instead simply wonders how long it is going to take to finish.  

There is a startling lack of self-control on display for such meaningless things.  In the middle of the night she begins to draw stars and reads weird things and she is pretty sure she can change the channels of her television by blinking in a certain way and she laughs at the hedonistic messages from people she thought she knew and is now relieved to say they no longer have a stake in things.  

She trembles at the transition and there are tears in her eyes when she remembers a decade full of nothing.  Would you like to have sex tonight?  Can we please stab ourselves in the eyes?  All my little clay figures have melted and the bones in wrist no longer support anything.  She is going to fly tonight and there is will be no brave soul to step in and take his place.  You believe once your dues are paid and it has lengthened you will have done a good job – the best of jobs – and that you will feel fulfillment but this is not true.  You are going to wake up deeply dissatisfied and you are not going to understand why.  And then you’ll go to a high ceilinged place and we’ll glisten inside again and we’ll spasm and we’ll find comfort in a moment and nothing but hate and futility in our lives.    

Trap doors open up beneath her.  Believe me my love, she says, I am different and I will never disappoint.  Let us pick a name from ancient texts and beg to be sustained.  The walls in her room are painted a dark blue and she is going to live there.  Every morning when she wakes up she spits out little pieces of her teeth and this makes her laugh.  Oh, I must thank you now for the only thing that really matters.  This is not an emotion but a genuine and destructive manifestation that creates fierce and degenerative monsters.  I think we picked a rather improper trip.  

It’s so cold and numb but there has been an irreversible change.  Is it blonde life or blood light?  She is going to need a very long spoon for the foreseeable future.  It is such a pleasure to be swallowed up by something degrading.  She paints the worst pictures of herself to be closer to a false promise of immortality.  The pitch of your voice is beautiful.  My lack of talent is quite obvious when I am silhouetted by the light of the moon.  There is no need to pull.  She is still going to be blasting this when going through the streets.  

We are children of disobedience and it is no longer very fun to be in this universe.  On the bed she touches herself while lights flash across her ceiling which may be real or may be imagined.  During these moments her face wears a quivering joyless smile and she closes her eyes when she feels too scared.  They say she has two gods while another more insistent voice is telling her to jump.  

This is now a very very dark place and she fears it is only going to become even darker.  I am very afraid something is going to be horrid.  

Very sane he seemed to me

Is she allowed to be angry? 

Is has not stopped raining for the past several days.  

After she parked she waited in her car for some time.  Exteriors had a strange hold on her and she stared at the outside of the store, all blue walls and tall, thick panes of glass. The door is also glass and she imagines pressing her hand against it and what this will look like from the perspective of someone inside the store.  People pass by and she briefly questions if emptiness is a commonly inherent quality.  

This is not the first store she has gone to on that day and it will not be the last.  In every one she walks straight to familiar sections and it only takes a few seconds to confirm what she already knew.   Empty.  Less than a week prior this was not the case.  The stand at the front of the store which was well stocked when they first arrived only a few days ago is now empty as well.  This was the same in the last store and it will be same in the next store.  Whether it was imprinted on paper or a piece of plastic, they have all been bought.  

You are frauds and now that this world is even more bereft of true beauty you are all far more sickeningly easy to notice.  There are vermin and pestilence gathering in unison.  It is not even a question of their design or what they are doing with their hands.  She would like for them to ask themselves what they will be doing in a year, even a few months.  Will everything simply be collecting dust?  Will this cumulative work – a collection of thousands of notes, of strings and images, words and inflections – be relegated to the bottom of some stack, a reflection of their overall lack of personality and conviction?  This is the most likely outcome, is it not?  Disingenuous is such a polite word.  The whims of human nature and emotion are a foul thing.  

And there are others, those who only showed up when the weather was fair and now want to cry and beg and share things of such great importance.  When was the last time any of this even crossed their mind?  And once these precious few days pass, will they ever have the time to think about it again?  Isn’t everyone busy with their failed romances and their very important dream jobs and depositing checks?  Shouldn’t we all be planning how we are going to waste the next forty years of our lives invested in things we do not care about?  That is what they are busy doing so why should they waste any of their precious time?  Write out a couple sentences, put your fingerprints on a piece of plastic, watch a bright display light up with a familiar name and once the day is done we can resume our glorious adventure in mediocrity.    

This is not what was intended and it is quite contrary to the virtues she worked so hard to extol and though she deeply understands her own hypocrisy she is unable to change it.  All she is left with are her thoughts and considerations and she wonders how much her newly discovered uselessness is contributing to her sadness.  It is a strange thing to imagine praying but not to actually pray.  She wonders if there is even the slightest possibility of a trade.  One of her.  A billion like her, a billion like the others.  That would be more than fair.  But no, sadly, not today, all deals are final and there are no trades conducted after the toll of that bell.  

There’s a black and white photograph on her coffee table, an insert she did not know she would receive.  She wants to find a frame for it and hang it on her wall, maybe the one opposite the front door.  There is a book on the table next to the photograph and the cover of the book has a picture of a man smoking, a satisfied glint in his eye.  The book chronicles a specific time in this man’s life and where he was for a number of years and what he created.  And what it is that he created during this time and surrounding this time is inside of her and she knows this will never change.  Does this make her current state somewhat inexplicable?

This is an indelible mark; nothing will ever wash it off.  Why is she so angry all the time?  Is she allowed this?  Is this a sin?  It is so much better to be alone rather than look at the disgusting faces of those who are just going to live and die without any questions or any attempts.  Does she hate herself?  This is an excellent question.  Are her feelings deeply contrary to the messages she so holds dear?  

Smooth screen. Beautiful commerce.  Turquoise sweater.  Recorded image.  Jumping.  Laughing.  In the background.  Everything is beautiful for an instant.   This is the real message.  This makes all the aforementioned ugliness disappear rather easily.  She can recognize the hypocrisy in others and herself but this is forgivable, it scarcely matters.  There is pure joy emanating outward.  She brings a glass of wine to her lips and looks over at the person next to her and they both smile and it is genuine.  This is legitimacy and power and beauty.  She receives advice that is far too perfect and though she will eventually take it she is not yet ready to listen.  But this is the way out.  Through.  This is how to let it go.  She has to leave soon.  She looks down at herself and smiles because it is torn. 

While driving at night it was quite a comfort listening to the one with the orange cover.  For a moment it was more affirmative than heartbreaking.  It opened up the same doors to beautiful and strange alien landscapes.  Nothing will ever change this.  She cannot hear the rain against the windshield.  As long as she keeps driving she does not feel as bad.

As the world falls down

I was at home like always.

Little details are standing out in strange ways.  It is impossible to meet this quota.  In the middle of the night we tend to the prodigal sons and it was at this moment the necessary message from someone kind came through.  There were already candles lit.  Has there ever been another denouement so perfectly planned?  The photographs are not new anymore and it is much harder to read the words now than it was then.  

He cannot explain anything right now.  He can only splash clashing colors on a canvas and when he stands back from it he sees that nothing looks good.  He is inadequate in every possible way.  That is quite a frustrating thing, even more so when in the face of something so powerful.  But these things he releases from his brain.  Though since the sunrise his voice has trembled and been low.  

There’s something in his eye and there has been all day long.  He has to disguise everything.  There is no sense otherwise.  This is the world he has created for himself.  His pain is ridiculous.  

In a room somewhere this is all taking place.  There are very few people inside.  Precious words are given light soon afterward and this allows anyone who wishes a chance to enter, just a little bit.  That is enough for now and likely will have to be enough for always. 

You’re so deep in your room now, just a little girl.  There is such a fear of frankness and from that stems the desire to disfigure everything.  That is the reason for these cutups.  Taken as love, it is irreparably damaged.  

The grain of truth in everything is that one inspires the other.  I am beside myself with this sensation of freedom.  There was always going to be a limit to the transparency.  

This was a gift meant for those who knew.  And now he knows that he was part of that moment, right there when it really mattered.  Blue is the color of my room and that is where I shall live.  I do so hope the absurd won’t be taken for granted in the coming eternity for that was so crucial.  

He much time is he going to spend examining everything, trying to uncover symbols and second guessing every word?  Is there any chance of taking things on face value?  This will find a way into everything he writes from now on.  Though it is highly doubtful that anything he writes will ever be worth a damn. 

There is an unexpected train of thought and it certainly mixes things up.  Yet there was that necessary message; someone boldly stepping in.  That is why it came from you, I can see that now; something new and unexpected and wonderful in this world.  

It just plays on repeat right now, everything is black.  This is foreknowledge and this is touching sentimentality.  This is a particular type of gift.  

She hasn’t written nearly enough but she’s given it so much thought.  Every time she sees a new message tears threaten to spill down.  Sometimes they don’t just threaten and something catches in her throat and she begins to cry.  Is that blood on her face?  

She was there on the first day, first hour, the opening.  Now this is some perverse point of pride for her and though she acknowledges a certain sickness in this pride it does nothing to diminish it.  She shares her sadness and regret while begrudging others the same form of release.  She wonders if they were only present on the brightest days, if their devotion was somehow falser for its selectivity and short term memory.  She wants to go to them and tell each and every one that their feelings are false and their faces betray this and they will be smiling soon enough and moving on to something easily digestible while her feelings will never dissipate.  In the next breath she hates herself too much to do anything and realizes she is not what was desired.  

She has time to consider and recall meeting him once in a restaurant before she had any idea about anything.  The memory is still beautiful and it is too easy to put herself back there and feel how well they got on.  It is also easy to remove everything that came afterward and jump right to the awful end.  She has time enough to wonder if she had known how it would all turn out would she have ever wanted to speak to him at all.  

She clears the dust off the old piano and there are cobwebs stretching from the fallboard to the faded keys.  She presses down on a few of the keys.  She is not playing a song, not thinking about any proper succession of notes.  She is simply filling the air with anything that can take away the silence.  After a while others join in and gradually they find a melody, something familiar and warm.  By the end of it they are singing and she feels blessed that she never knew anything in advance.  

Later on his brain is still a scattered mess.  Stepping outside it was difficult to accept this shift.  There were many moments of melodrama and there will doubtlessly be many more.  He tries to focus on the plan, an impossible plan that somehow makes sense of all the tragedy.  One last change in this world.  A new career in a new…what, exactly?  Not everything can be revealed and it is somehow more appropriate.  He is entering the wardrobe one more time, this is his chosen finale, to be forever left as a muse and leaving us to wonder in what new fantastic form he may emerge as in the next life.  This is the best ending.  This is dignity.  This is purposeful.  This is art.  I still cannot stop crying.

  
There is smoke coming up out of the metal street grates in SoHo but it does not touch the flowers.  

David

I was watching you when it happened.  
I did not hear the final breath.  I heard the rumors and laughed them off.  My arrogance is one of my many flaws.  I was born under a stone.  He was born in a UFO.  Like in outer space.  
I don’t know how true anything is.  
Such control over everything until the very last.  It’s all deranged.   I hear some mad piano keys in the background and a manic saxophone hitting just the right notes.  
It is too easy to pathetically devolve until self….  I am a disgraceful human being.  Why I am still even here?  There is only true type of nobility.  
Raining tears upon the sheets.  
I light this candle.  
Don’t turn this is an expense of ego.  Everyone there is no point in comparison.  I would have flung myself from the highest….
How could you have known so much that we did not? 
Just like that bluebird, you’ll be free.  In private what have we all struggled with?  And this control maintained until the end.  My hands are trembling and I can’t see anything.  There’s something in my eye, something in the air.  Ziggy played guitar.  I thought you were an alient creature.  I can’t write anything.  I am in a corner somewhere.  I am lost somewhere.  Everyone says hi.  What did you write while everything was happening?  Words are spilling out right now without any real meaning and I wonder where you are.  My perception is everything or nothing.  
I take everything for granted.  When will the time for celebration?  Reinvention splayed across my years.  I laughed and cried in equal measure.  I was alone and then I was not.  It’s a slow burn, I think the angels are coming soon.  Is that all some kind of elaborate brainwashing?   Are these lights in the sky going to take us away?  I can still see that awful thing I drew on my carpet.  
How could you know to leave this gift for us?  I bought transparency.  I was found under a stone.  I was brought back to life and everything around me was autumnal. 
What was that like writing this?
I can’t fill my word quota anymore.  I can’t really write.  Fraud.  
I listened to Outside first and then Hunky Dory. That is just the beginning.  I am waking at 4 am and will be looking for some guidance.  
I feel so sad over someone I never met before at any point in my life.  Yet this person has impacted my life more than almost anyone else.  What a bizarre world we live in and now this world is quite a bit less nice.  
I left wrote you something on the bridge.  I left that for you in your city.  I’ll never see you.  I’ll never leave my room.  I love you.  I’m sorry.  
Oh God please bring me the disco king.  
You can’t give it all away.  No one can.  
Thank you 

Way up, oh honey, I’ve got game

I want to savor this moment, this entire day and night.  

Once again there is division.  My life is going to be defined and remembered now as pre and post.  Am I excited?  Of course, no need to ask.

I owe both of Y(y)ou so much.  It is obvious to whom I owe more and I will not delay in this for that is clearly wrong: You.  I am still torn and I recently listened to words about salvation and they left me questioning, not the conviction of the speaker but how that particular truth is applied to yours falsely.  

Please understand I am not making any comparisons.  

I don’t want to steal too liberally from Terrence but when was that initial moment of discovery?  I know one took place as a child though I believe this may have been born out of fear.  There is an image of fire and a man who at once is cartoonish and silly and overwhelmingly terrifying.  I question devotion that stems from fear.  That was only the first moment and there were many afterward.  Some of those were born from fear of something different (or was it the same thing in a new mask, maybe it’s like a Chinese box and I would just keep removing layers and never see the actual face) and some were born of desire.  Is that any better?  I never considered it until now but would he have stayed were it not for…blue…voice…maternal displacement, everything so thick with desire.

And this other I am discussing, the initial thesis here, the aforementioned pre and post assertion.  It was more than a decade ago but that was still too late for actualization, but not for adoration.  The great disappearing act was about to begin because I always arrive too late.  Still, the introduction was nothing short of glamorous, marking the first of many (lifelong?) traverses into intrigue, confusion and rather glorious affirmation.  

Would I need to ask for permission?  What is the lifespan of all this?  We may meet on the beach at some point.  Though I will never see you face to face. 

In the future I’ll probably have to watch old videotapes to remind myself how to do certain things.  I would love to share a kiss as has been described.  Its cliché but this breaks my heart every single time.  

At some point afterward I discovered the alien landscapes of orange skies and disjointed thoughts that impossibly mirrored my own.  Just as my brain was nothing more than breaking glass and strange (horrific) symbols drawn on my floor (a sad rejection on my part) I was blessed by this blackout and stumbling around in the dark I discovered something that made it all make sense and made it all okay.  

It was the beginning of never-ending discovery.  I stayed at frightening motels.  I saw bruises and tears and finally acceptance.  

Lets not take the easy way out.  Now both have found their way into everything that follows.  Cut-ups.  How many times have I mentioned this?  Disparate thoughts and emotions are like different colors of paints splashed across a canvas.  I feel psychotic and estranged and redeemed.  There was so much expansion and change for the better.  Time is a wonderful thing.  

There is a brief common element and that is (no) control.  How true is this?

If I don’t reject this, is something going to be horrid?  These images inspire such love and consistently confuse me. 

We could be approaching an end and this is not lost on me.  For that reason it is more crucial than ever that every single moment is treasured and given the attention it deserves.  I am living through a revival.  You have to believe you can do better otherwise what is the point of anything?  

I can’t deny there is a part of me which loves the fracturing.  

           
I’m the great…

Is this wrong?  Is the fact that I’m even questioning it proof of something?  I don’t want to say. 
 
I think we’re dancing in a castle somewhere and there are enchanted animals around us.  I also believe we created an awful machine, something which should be destroyed.  I wonder if I am going to disappear one day and no one will know what happened to me but there will be speculation that it was something horrid.  Will there be a recording of my distorted voice as I am about to be forced to do some awful things?  Leave me in the dark.  

Ultimately I do realize that I don’t know who I am.  

This has been the consecutive conclusion.  

How many people have instructed him as to whom he should be praying?  Can he fit inside her hand?  

When there is that awful and persistent thing struggling to get out these are the means by which to contain it again.  This dark muse continues to inspire and if I’m not mistaken it always shall.  

There is so much majesty here, so many soaring days in our lives.  Joy in this act of creation; one great and the other beyond greatness.  

There is a moment where I am absolutely terrified of my hologramic television set and this may have something to do with the fact that it literally consumed my girlfriend (the previous evening?).  I know at some point I will have to venture inside and rescue her and I wonder if I will be wearing a woman’s dress when that moment comes. 

I want to thank you and I want to thank You.  I am frequently questioning allegiances yet I am still in consistent blissful awe at the different levels of creation taking place.  

This is still pre and I am going to continue enjoying this phase through its last few hours.  A year from now and five years (which is all we got) from that we will see how the post is shaping up. 

Look up here, I'm in Heaven.  I've got scars that can't be seen

Look that up if you’re unsure.