Strength augmenting potions and the rich perfume of performance (please let me....!!!)

I’d be a fool to deny that Lorde’s tribute was far and away superior to that of Lady Gaga.  I’m not even a Lorde fan and I actually love Lady Gaga, owning and regularly listening to all her records.  But I still have to admit it.  I loved seeing that band present and the photographs on the screens.  Mostly, I just liked that she opted for one song – rather than a wretched medley (me hate medleys, too Vegasy) and stayed in one outfit that had a clear era attached to it.  I also quite liked that she did not try to mimic Bowie’s voice and instead sang it with her own flair and character.  It was an elegant tribute.  Please forgive me for stating my opinion.  Little Mix’s performance was also quite excellent and that tune Black Magic is a deliriously catchy sugar rush; let it fill your senses and bring a little sunshine to your (meaning my) miserable life!  And Jesy Nelson!  Jeeze!  That’s all I can say!  Holy moly!  I guess I had more to say than I thought, more than “jeeze”!

Though it appears this particular performance was not without its share of controversy.  This leads me to question whether it is possible for anything – even something as harmless as a performance by a pop group on an awards show – to exist in this horrible day and age without sparking controversy and making somebody irate.  

It seems the reasons for this divisiveness are twofold: 1. The appropriation of the multicolored Mexican sugar skull as a giant prop on stage and 2. The gals lip syncing the chorus (though the verses were clearly sung live).  I will address each of these complaints with my own irrelevant thoughts and opinions that will likely not shed light on anything or even serve to be remotely interesting.  

Sugar skulls: This image is of particular importance and interest to me and I can understand why some folks would be upset by its offhanded use in their performance.  It is a symbol that has special significance to many people and consequently this could be taken as a sign of disrespect.  However I see nothing to suggest any intentional disrespect and it seems far more likely that they or a production unit simply thought it was a cool, hip and boss image (which it was).  I myself am already desensitized as I see sugar skulls everywhere – from people’s offices, to classrooms to all kinds of questionable stores – so I was not taken aback by the image.  I guess I don’t really have anything to say, sorry readers but I warned you!  Must we be offended by everything though?!  It looked hip!  I say sugar skulls should be used more often in all aspects of life! 

On a side note, I want to say that when I knew nothing about this group aside from learning the title of this single – Black Magic – I instinctively recoiled, thinking this was going to be another situation where a song by a big pop star supposedly has political or deep topical lyrics that apply to an artist’s heritage/cultural background which is suddenly so high on their list of priorities (despite the fact that writing the lyrics themselves would be too much of an imposition) so I was actually delighted to find that they are really discussing black magic in the classic sense of the occult, shamanism and witchcraft, in many ways not too dissimilar to the recent film The Witch (fantastic film by the way) and having far more parallels to Santana’s (Peter Green’s) classic Black Magic Woman as it discusses the amorous spells these comely ladies use to essentially enslave a man.  If I can be lecherous for a moment I dare say they’ve no need to resort to ostensibly satanic pacts and witchcraft if they wish to win the hearts of red-blooded males, especially if they wear the outfits they wore during the awards show.  Fishnets!  Oh please after the performance just let me….

  
Lip syncing: This is another thing that’s really not such a big deal.  Many times at big spectacle shows like this – morning talk shows or the Superbowl are good examples – artists can’t always play or sing live due to the technological restraints of the venue.  It could be as simple as that.  Though it is perhaps odd that the verses could be sung live and not the chorus though this could be down to wanting perfect harmonies on those infectious melodies in the interest of gaining the most new fans possible on the strength of this single.  Make no mistake: for the group, this was all about promotion, big promotion and perhaps they did not want to risk the slick song craft.  Rock can be a bit raw but pop is typically at its sharpest when at its glossiest.  At the same time I can certainly understand why fans would be upset.  The feeling must be closest to disappointment and I know I felt something similar when Shakira was lip syncing the chorus to Empire on The Voice a couple years ago.  It is disconcerting when an artist you love seems to sacrifice artistic integrity for the sake of ratings or for something as empty and pandering as an awards show.  Yet, that’s exactly what this was: an awards show and an event where it is expected for artists to make as big a splash as possible.  To that end I’d say mission accomplished though I’d be curious to see if they sing the chorus live during general live performances.  And rest assured I will be watching many videos of this group in the interest of data collection.  Great song though, fantastic pop! 

So overall I guess I would say both of these issues are just more cases of folks overreacting for no reason.  We all need something to complain about.  

I may not view Se7en as Fincher’s greatest film (that unequivocally goes to Zodiac) but it is shockingly close and over 20 years on the movie has lost none of its magic and force despite the millions of unworthy imitators.   The chase scene in the middle is still one of the best I’ve ever seen and one of the few which truly presents a sense of anything-can-happen danger.  On a completely unrelated note, Lacey Sturm’s new solo album Life Screams sounds intriguing and I may need to check it out should I ever poke my head out of my metaphorical shell and venture out into this great wide world.  

My comments yesterday regarding Arrow and Breaking Bad proved exceedingly controversial and I received scores of hate mail and more than one death threat!  Television fans are a rather intense bunch but I suppose I cannot fault them for their zeal and passion.  We all need to find a reason why we have to die.  I have two episodes left in Arrow season 2 and I must say it has proven to be one of the most thrilling seasons of television I’ve ever viewed in my worthless life.  That is not to say it was perfect – it actually has numerous flaws – but the overall drive of the thing has continued to grow more and more involving and thrilling.  Slade and Brother Blood were/are excellent villains and that arc was the necessary stakes-raising backbone which made this superior to season 1 (which I also quite liked).  I plan to binge on season 3 as soon as I can make it to the doctor to donate blood that I may then hitchhike on down to ye olde conglomerate and purchase the blu ray! 

Of course seeing Gary Oldman is always pure pleasure.  The greatest of his kind?  Very possibly.  

Now that she escaped the moth...PLEASE!!!

You know, I really do love Tim Burton’s 1989 film Batman.  I must have watched that movie around twenty thousand times give or take.  I also love both the score by Danny Elfman and the soundtrack by Prince.  That Prince album is a bit divisive amongst the devoted followers of his work but I would call it one of my faves.  Perhaps that is because of its connection to the feature film but I find it to be possessed of a lighter, more mischievous spirit which was perhaps necessary after the beautiful but very heavy Lovesexy.  The Batman album has some great loose funk and it’s a disc I can consistently listen to from beginning to end.  And the film itself is just a fantastic piece of pop art; Burton had such a clear understanding and vision for the iconography and it still remains far more daring than a huge amount of the superhero flicks which have come after.  However, despite my love of this movie those who know me best know I actually prefer Burton’s 1992 sequel Batman Returns roughly twelve billion times more and  would likely select it as my favorite movie of all time.  Gosh, I just love feature films, I love the cinema!  What can I say?!  I mean, what can I fucking say at this point?!  

I was rather late to the game because I’m a simpering fool but I finally acquired and actively listened to Raekwon’s 2015 album Fly International Luxurious Art and found it to be a top shelf release full of the gritty and evocative stories for which the Chef is known.  Despite the lack of RZA, the production and beats are largely on point and lay the dark ambience for Rae’s grim and glam narratives.  When not listening to that I suppose I’ve been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot.  I love Aladdin Sane.  

Oh how he wishes she would just put him in that headlock until he passes out.  Is that not what he craves every single day?  

So I’m watching two shows fairly regularly right now and by regularly I mean I’m behind the times and playing (Heinz) catch-up and those two shows are Arrow and Breaking Bad (notice I put them in alphabetical order for all you letters fans out there).  Would it be controversial to say I’m not sure which program I enjoy more?!  I think somehow it would be controversial.  People have very unusual ideas about television shows and are rather protective about what they like.  I guess I can appreciate that; nothing wrong with being passionate about something.  Though sometimes I feel that very passion blinds them to some pretty fundamental problems.  I can’t say I’ve ever found a non-episodic television show that did not have problems with pacing, characters making contrived decisions and storylines being needlessly stretched out.  Arrow and Breaking Bad both have these problems and neither is perfect though you know what?!  Right now as I am nearly finished with Arrow season 2 and about halfway through Breaking Bad season 4 I prefer Arrow.  That’s just the way it is.  For now.  But I will say I enjoy both shows.  I’m allowed to enjoy both programs, right?  Please tell I am allowed to do so!  

That strange book rested on the corner of the mantle.  It lay open and its ancient pages were yellowed and brittle.  He had not been able to understand much in that book; the text was largely a mystery and it was full of bizarre symbols.  He was on knees and could feel sweat beading down his face.  His heart threatened to explode and the panic was so intense he was sure to vomit very soon.  The not quite human thing before him had both male and female genitalia, each sex somehow three times larger that whatever could possibly be considered normal. 

   
The days are all melting again and it is very difficult to make sense of anything.  I need something tangible.  Everyone is slipping away much quicker than I expected.  I was just there the other night and it was quite shameful.  I bore witness to a jolly orgy.  Yes, right there on the unclean floor writhed and moaned a couple dozen folk and the fuckery continued for several hours.  I frequently have to stop what I’m doing and wonder how we all became so repulsive.  We let far too many things inside our bodies these days.  Oh, I suspect your eyes are reading with delight.  There is happiness in your heart for all these grave misfortunes and how could I begrudge anyone that?  Don’t forget your lucky deck.

Again, day in (day out) I am struck by how much time we devote to things we don’t care about.  Does no one else see this as an issue?  Is this truly what was intended?  It is so hot inside our prisons.  We are all dropping off and soon enough there will be nothing left.  How did this time come so soon?  Temptation stands in the way of everything.  Let’s all forgive and forget.  Let’s not worry about any predatory tendencies.  Why must we discuss anything?  Hate, nothing but blinding hatred.  I am an ugly thing.  

This darkness was founded by dogs.  As the interiors continue to evolve in a most grey fashion (turn to the left!).  Who is this guy?  I can’t answer any of these questions.  I am the ugly king of nothing.  These convenient individuals.  You are too scared to go off on your own.  You rebel against it but it is the only thing that makes you happy.  It’s just a cultural difference.  Nothing is truly evil.  It’s all just a difference in perspective.  I was found on a meteorite.  This life started out under a rock.  I think I’ll drink another bottle of champagne, thank you very much.  Eva says the word champagne so beautifully.  The war in the Corto Maltese is so distressing; I can’t stop thinking about it.  Some would even say she has two eyes.  I’m meeting someone later on who wants to see examples of my black and white photography.  I am fucking drained.  How do we get away with being so disappointing? 

I will be tuning into Lucha Underground tonight.  Before and after the program I will likely be reflecting upon my own tortured uselessness but for that 60 minute span of time in between I will exist in an increasingly rare state of happiness.  Do I dare hope that...?

I keep finding out that everyone is actually miserable.  

My civil tights are being violated!

I finished the aforementioned text and found it to be so spectacular I’m not sure how I survived so long without it.  Lust may be the operative word; it is too difficult to say.  I don’t want to count anything.  There was green inside of red and that is disguising it far too much, it’s really doing it a disservice.  I live on my back.  I think I can relate to the overall sentiment as I would also feel great peace at those approving chants and cries during the final moments.  That is merely the very first to be crossed off the list though there shall be many others.  

This morning I sipped steaming hot black coffee out of a mug emblazoned with the Oakland Athletics logo.  Baseball season is starting soon and my excitement is reaching a fever pitch!  While drinking said coffee and consuming a well-balanced breakfast I also viewed the ostensible season finale of The X-Files.  

Very soon it will be time for to venture out of my little bubble that I may plunk down copious amounts of cash to purchase items I don’t necessarily need.  You know, I’ve been listening a lot to the Wu Tang Clan lately in between deep bouts of self-loathing.  I vividly recall being in the multiplex 7 years ago when a fight broke out between an adolescent and a grown man.  Later on, I realized I hated them both, and in ways that were not too dissimilar.  I am feeling quite dizzy while I type all of this and only have a vague idea as to why.  Such pity, I feel such pity.  How is it possible we are all devoting ourselves to things we do not care about?  Please, afterward I will post a happy photo of myself online and this will make everything better.  I fear my chest may explode at any moment.  

No one quite understands the power being wielded in these moments.  Hate is being spread out over the sky and right there on our TV screens.  Oh, why must we subscribe to so much high school philosophy?  Please show me what cultures you were talking about, please enlighten me because I am clearly too stupid to understand.  This is not about the simple transference of a virus; you are thinking far too small.  I’ve never been in charge of anything in my life but I know enough to know that these ancient texts we’ve brazenly ignored are going to be the source of quite a bit of turmoil.  Is it a terrifying book?  It must be so great to think so small without a care in the world.  And then you may cry yourself to sleep at night for how deeply misunderstood you are.  What pathetic things we are when we desperately seek out these meaningless connections and then how we cling to them while wasting every passing moment of our lives.  Let’s not jump into bed right now with psychics.  We are approaching a critical juncture and there is another coming and I am not sure I am going to be around subsequent to his/her arrival.  

I honestly don’t know what to expect anymore, especially with this recent smear campaign.  Or would it be more accurate to call it a full blown conspiracy?  I want to believe things can be truly great.  If that is not possible I suspect I will be nearly as happy if it is an overblown, problematic, overly ambitious, doesn’t quite work, bombastic fascinating pop epic.  We shall see.  Ultimately, it may just come and go and leave nothing more than a pit of indifference in my stomach.  

One day he is going to wake up and no longer be able to hide the fact that he is deeply unhappy.  But he won’t be able to understand why he is unhappy.  Someone else will understand though, perfectly.  And that individual will be all too happy to explain why should he politely ask.

It’s so cold.  The ranging squires of dance that parade inside the mines of hallowed shadows.  My face is disappearing like sex in the desert and the world keeps spinning while flesh is rejoiced.  I’ve not been able to guide the transcendental principles that apply to the various green ruptures under the rich shade of newfound wealth.  All I can do is express disappointment to the unusual men who previously ventured into mechanical jungles where inside the gold bars were so evenly discovered taxonomic blades and infrequent departments of nutritional justice.  Oh the trails inside my mouth, I need someone to unscrew my brain.  Pretty please mommy?!  

Maybe I am looking forward to the R-rated cut!  One thing is for sure: I need to listen to more albums by Elvis Costello, Flaming Lips, Run the Jewels, a guy named Klaus and GZA.  Whatever, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.  They ask me not to talk.  Oh, we are such pathetic ugly things.  Please let us lie around and binge and pretend the hardest we can.  This is awful, it is all so awful.  I think Thalia’s albums make me feel better most of the time.  Thankfully, I’m reading a book by Clive Barker these days.  I think when I grow up I’ll be morbidly obese and raise lovable dogs that I will subsequently sell on the streets to worthy families (though at admittedly inflated prices).  

The butterfly came from inside the sun and destroyed my senses.  Proffering a dark liquid afterward, I could not help but feel elated by the reproach.  My eyes were wandering beasts and I never sought to shield myself from the glass traps.  There was a monster inside of him while the others cheered and rallied.  It no longer looks like me.  Nothing is the same as it was before.  I think we are sitting in a white room somewhere.  From inside the sun, where all the gears and parts were slowly going to waste.  This is a rare moment of beauty.  Please, he does not want to destroy anything anymore.  Please just let him stay in his room.  Why does everyone keep talking to me?  Can’t they all just leave me alone?

Ghetto man is inside the hawk and I no longer understanding a fatherfucking thing!  

[Thank you C.W. (not the channel, or is it?!)]

We don't like the honest characters

I wonder if it is some sort of Indian magick that has done this to me.  An ancient strain.  Somewhere deep in the very back and very dark recesses of his mind there awaits the seedling of an idea, something which hasn’t quite hatched yet but perhaps with the aid of ancient texts with thousands of tiny words printed on brittle and yellow pages these secrets may be unlocked.  I found myself in a mostly darkened room last night surrounded by people which may or may not have been strangers to me.  We were all wearing burgundy masks, only occasionally lifting them halfway to sip richly aromatic drinks from sifters.  My garb was a traditional suit; the majority of the predominantly male audience wore the same.  There was a bit of smoke and then music but I could not locate speakers.  Strange sounds and incantations, they echoed.  Some of them were already becoming visibly excited.  Red curtains were pulled backk to reveal a woman who danced and then disrobed.  Her body was in fine shape but nothing remarkable.  She also wore a mask though it was more of a sack with crude eyeholes cut out.  There was a tattoo on her shoulder but I could not exactly make it out.  As she began to insert a long metal rod inside herself she simultaneously chanted something in a language I did not recognize.  Periodically, she would giggle like a school girl.  I was not quite sure what to think.  Those around me began to light candles and I noticed one in the arm rest of my seat as well.      

My shitty region free Korean copy of Abel Ferrara’s 1995 movie The Addiction arrived in the mail today.  I love Ferrara’s films and The Addiction is a particular favorite so it’s a damn shame for yours falsely that there exists no American DVD or blu ray copy and the only one I could purchase has no supplemental material and is in full screen!  Is this enough for me to break my former vow and kill again?  Maybe.  After all, how long can a man stay silent before he returns to the thing he does best?  

I might be questioning the motivations and I am surely not the only one.  Fear was rampant in their glassy eyes, pointed toward the sky in their unerring disobedience.  Are these scurrilous rumors true, does it indeed have sinister backing?  If so, what does it mean that it may also have my support?  My love is an ugly deformed thing.  I fear very badly the idea that I may be floating above myself.  Please do not let it be so.  What sins are committed in the name of art?  Did I watch a recruitment video, crystal clear and not without moments of glory?  Did words meant to inspire only serve to terrify?  Am I in the hands of something very wrong?  Please let me take the right path.  

Sometimes one just needs that power to be exerted, is that correct?  Such delicious power.  Subjugation and degradation feel so delightful.  And we certainly do not measure time in the same way, do we?  The moon was speaking a great many things to us and I considered how the moon terrified me as a child.  Even now, I sometimes look up at the sky during the night and am filled with fear.  But before me now, this leather slipping from the body, crashing to the floor.  There is a strange ecstasy invading.  I am no longer in a simple realm of disobedience.  There are great dogs of prayer and their voices are a new and valuable weapon.  She makes commands and I follow orders.  It’s all on the tongue.  

I saw two feature films in the multiplex this week: Deadpool and another movie.  I liked one more than the other but I will not yet reveal which.  However my love for Gina Carano is as undying as ever and I shall be purchasing Extraction on blu ray disc this upcoming Tuesday despite having serious doubts as to its quality.

  
Carrie Rodriguez’s new album Lola sounds very promising.   Mayhaps I’ll have to snag a copy and give it a healthy listen.  I’d also like to listen to Kanye West’s new album at some point in the near future but I’ve no desire at all to subscribe to Tidal.  Fuck Jay Z!  Nah, I kid the Z man.  I was merely quoting the song Ether by Nas from his great 2001 album Stillmatic.  Nas has long been one of my favorite rappers and I frequently find his flow to be far superior to the more popular likes of Jay Z and Kanye West, which does not mean they are not great artists/rappers in their own right so don’t start sending me a bunch of hate mail (unless you plan on going through with what’s necessary).  I love the second half of “Heroes”.  Mother fuck fuck I just love it!  I love the first half too, good gravy!  I’ve just been crushing hardcore on the second half this week!  

I’ve been slowly but surely catching up, gotta love those ass-numbing marathon viewings!  I have fallen heel head over once more (here I go again, the cycle never ends, I just pray I don’t get burned)!  This time with none other than the daughter of the demon herself.  Nyssa.  She shot an arrow straight to my heart with her lethal first appearance.  

I saw her running once she wrestled free of the moth, another love renewed.  There is too much lately and his heart may be on the verge of exploding.  Scissors are still frequently on his brain.  And a strong denial of mercy even when he begs for it.  You are a strong symbol.  I am a very weak man.  Likely, I will end up as a photographer somewhere at the end of the world.  

There are strange supporters of evil right here in this very world.  Please do not promote anymore of your high school philosophy.  Why don’t we all go read a book?  I’ve often wished to have hair like Christopher Walken.  I’m going to start reading The Stranger by Albert Camus today or tomorrow.  Sports Illustrated huh?  I never have before, do I dare start now?!  I suspect there are some very improper eyes paying attention to my every word.  Oddly now more than ever before.  

I suspect we’ll meet again someday in a capital city; the prophecies were correct.  

He's away on business

They are five for five!  Five for fucking five I am telling you.  The controversial reaction is a comfort.  I only worry when there is universal acclaim.  There were moments stirring, comical and touching.  In general this entire year has been a rousing success, far beyond what my pitiful self could ever imagine.  I am greatly looking forward to the end next week as it looks grand but I am also dreading the following lack of new installments.  That seems to me to be the perfect sentiment to inspire in an audience as things draw to a close.    

Increasingly harder to focus these days.  I have broken away almost all the shackles which is very nice.  Unfortunately he is not the anchor of a heavily syndicated news program so no one would even see it if he went through with it.  The years are finally catching up, isn’t that right?  You can’t keep making those same statements and mistakes over and over again.  He must post a new photo to prove to the world his worthlessness.   There must be something more than this?  Why oh why did he ever read that book with the two magicians on the cover?  His mind was fractured by the time the sun came up.  

I’m off to see Deadpool at some point in the shockingly near future (or did I already see it?  The days have turned away from me).  My reasons for viewing this feature film have nothing to do with my love of the Deadpool character or of actor Ryan Reynolds (since such love does not exist in my spirit) or even of my fondness for comic book flicks!  No, my motivation lies in my dark heart and its intense yearning for Gina Carano.  How I’ve longed for her to destroy me in hand to hand combat.  I am delighted she is in more feature films these days.  Though on a side note I am pleased that this R rated superhero flick has done so well and hope it means the genre will finally expand (just a bit damnit, just a fucking bit!  Is that too much to hope for?!).

I attempted to watch the Grammy’s last night but found it be a shockingly dull spectacle.  Methinks I’m just a tad out of touch with modern music.  Truth be told I was mostly tuning in to watch Lady Gaga’s tribute to David Bowie.  Generally speaking, tributes are horribly cheesy piles of manure.  I will not comment much on this Bowie tribute (which makes my very mention of it largely pointless) but I will say that if Gaga ever released an album of Bowie covers I would purchase this and believe it would be a satisfying listen.  I will also say I’ve concluded that Adele has a groovy voice but I just can’t get into her songs!  They’re not bad songs at all!!! They simply do not speak to me and I don’t know why.  Sad.  Lots of respect though, she seems genuine.  Oh well, no one should care what a worthless piece of garbage like me thinks anyway.  I will politely add that she is smoking hot!  What a babe!  Hubba hubba!  Not sure what else to say about the Grammy’s.  Lots of derivative, bland tunes, lots of soullessness.  Kendrick Lamar was good.  

There was a very pleasant moment last night where you were my teacher.  I don’t believe you addressed me directly but maybe one day.  Maybe not.  I think this was you letting me know that it is all going to be okay.  Thank You. 

These glass traps keep opening up around me.  This great ugly thing inside of me is only happy when it can suck on some blood.  This is a grotesque thing.  

The Flaming Lips set was interesting.  They are slowly but surely growing on me.  

Flesh colored is lovely.  Who can say if it is the favorite but it is very lovely.  I don’t know if anyone has properly deduced these spells.  

I watched Candyman and Hellraiser in rapid succession today (or was it yesterday or maybe even the day before?!).  I love those films and Clive Barker’s writing.  It’s only been in the past couple months I’ve realized how ahead of its time Barker’s writing truly was.  It still retains its brutal power to terrify and inspire.  

Things are so fragmented now I’m surprised anyone can make sense of anything.  The pages are yellowing but I need to get my hands on them.  I am very afraid of these things that keep appearing in the sky.  My destination is unclear.  I’m putting on my makeup while glass is breaking around me.  We’ve dealt with a similar brand of insanity in the past but I fear this will grow into something new and increasingly vile.  We’re lost in a midnight crowd of people pretending to be tough.  They all bought the book but no one is reading it.  Misery is our newest vision of the future.  Is it possible these reptilian things are truly walking among us?  I hear strange voices on the phones; they say things I do not understand and afterward my head hurts and I feel nauseas.  There is a rather alarming opening in my throat and one can see clearly the exposed meat, glistening with red blood.  Sometimes it makes involuntary noises which sound very much like the purr of a satisfied cat.  There is a strange and terrifying power emanating from these yellow eyes.  I am quite certain there are awful things meeting in seclusion right now and decisions are being made that we are not going to like.  It’s printed, understand, it is all right there on those pages and everyone is so fucking blind.  

I only just now learned about the film The Space In Between – Marina Abramovic and Brazil which is set to premiere this year in Austin, Texas at the South by Southwest Film Festival.  Judging by the trailer it seems like a fascinating work. Abramovic is a hugely inspiring and inventive artist and though I won’t be able to attend the premiere because I am a useless sack of garbage this is now extremely high on my list of anticipated things for this bizarre year of 2016.  Thank You for art.  There is sweet nourishment.  Mother’s milk.

I’m shaking right now.  My body does not listen to any of the commands I give it.  Is sex evil?  Why does nothing make any sense anymore?  

I immediately fell deeply, passionately, powerfully in love with Kobra Moon.  How I wish she would put me to sleep.  Would it be appropriate to say she has the blood of reptile just underneath her skin?  I am so impure. 

Love is like a fishstick, burns you when it’s hot. 

The bunnies terrify me (and I still love to breathe it in)

I’m a dark wizard.  Maybe it’s finally time to grow my beard out and buy a dark of cards!  Haha, I meant deck of cards!  I guess I just have darkness on my mind haha! 

  
I have been receiving communications from outside intelligences.  

Our hello did not last long and with a playful finger she beckoned me to the backroom and I followed.  It was there she explained that beneath the aforementioned form-fitting pin-striped business pants she was wearing a pair of Secrets in Lace Signature sheer to the waist Reinforced Heel and Toe pantyhose, adding that the 20 denier nylon lycra makes them wonderfully soft and the flat seam sewing makes them lovingly comfortable.  She also recounted to me the daily rigors of the pastry business and how on that particular day she’d been on her feet for her entire shift in those teal colored Christian Louboutin high heels.  She discussed in brief the practicality of staying in this business for the foreseeable future as well as some recent investments she’d made in some low risk mutual funds (just in case the market dips).  She then promptly ordered on the ground and commanded that I kiss the toe of her shoe.  I of course complied and then she removed her foot from her shoe – at this I was able to admire the design and elegance of the Secrets in Lace Reinforced Heel and Toe hosiery – and ordered several more kisses.  While I was complying with her orders – my olfactory nerves in a state of heaven – she called me several names like “patetico” and “inutil” and laughed and the indignation she was forcing upon me.  Then, reminding me that we were indeed in a bakery she reached for a nearby cream-filled donut and forcefully inserted this in her teal Christian Louboutin high-heel shoe.  She then slowly and lovingly inserted her pantyhose clad foot, staring at me all the while.  There was a delightful squishing sound of the pastry being mashed and I saw the cream ooze out. 

A special blu ray of Lucio Fulci’s classic 1971 Giallo A Lizard in a Woman’s Skin was released yesterday from Mondo Macabro.  Me thinks I will have to hitchhike on over to a local conglomerate that I may purchase a copy.  Of course, if they do not have one in stock I will promptly order one from the internet and then sit in my living room with all electronics turned off and the curtains closed tight until the delivery person arrives with my product.  Such is the nature of wisdom.  Also, I’ve been listening to Kraftwerk’s 1975 album Radio-Activity a decent amount lately.  Am I that transparent? Obviously.  What a great group though.  And The Idiot!  What a fantastic piece of art.  I’m talking about the album, not the book.  I’ve never read the book though I’m sure it’s fantastic too.  However I will say that were I to hang myself I don’t think The Idiot is what I’d place on repeat on my turntable.  It might not be so far off though!  I’m again talking about the album, not the book. 

I want ten million dollars a year every year for the rest of my life.    

The lock was the key to everything.  Immediately after I could only stand in slack jawed awe over my own brilliant sense of wordplay.  Oh what a singularly corrupt world.  How I despise it and nearly everyone who occupies its space, mostly myself though, especially myself.  I despise myself.  

This new season of The X-Files has been absolutely fucking killing it!  Please pardon the expletives as they are surely a sign of very weak writing but I could not think of any other adequate phrasing (likely because I am a stupid stupid man).  They are four for four though!  Four for Four!  And was that a subtle little nod to the classic episode “Home” in Monday night’s new episode?  I think so!  

Bryan Fuller is the showrunner the new Star Trek series set to premiere in 2017.  I am curious. 

What else have I been listening to lately? You say you’re DYING to know?!  Well, Tilt by Scott Walker is always a must, am I right?!  And Lodger, I’ve been loving me some Lodger!  If only I had a vinyl copy.  And Kylie Minogue and especially Thalia still craft perfect pop albums! 

It was strange seeing Marcela fighting on the side of darkness.  Though always a thrilling performer – my favorite? – it just did not seem quite right.  Or maybe it seemed more right than ever!  Cielos! 

I’ve been debating about the Arri Alexa though I’ve also been considering something a bit older, a bit more consumer grade.  It’ll give it that really “cheap” look but is there not something charming about that as well?  Have you seen Inland Empire?!  What an utterly hypnotic project.  But s/he is no Lynch, never could be so don’t even dream of it.  These are just random thoughts, as meaningless as they seem.  I was just wearing a t-shirt tucked into jeans.  I still haven’t procured that really fine pair of shades. 

I think something is going very wrong with me.  I know I blacked out at some point recently.  I did not feel well afterward.  No matter.  Lucha Underground is on tonight!  Devoted worshippers of my work know of my deep, unhealthily fanatical love of this program. I think I will order a large pepperoni pizza and then sit my disgusting body down on my bourgeois sofa and consume said pizza while watching said program.  I will likely laugh and cry in equal measure.

I watched the movie Exotica last night.  It was quite good yet not at all like what I was expecting. To be clear: I expected it to be good but expected the story to be vastly different.  I guess that just goes to show what a monumentally worthless individual I am.  

You are going to be so sorry one day for the way you treated us.  Whose perspective is this?  I think I know but it’s hard to say.  I don’t want to say.  Please don’t talk to me again.  I don’t want to think about you anymore.  This is an evil awful thing.  Why can’t he escape?

I’m drinking coffee right now.  I still can’t bring myself to listen to it.  What’s happening to me? Ice Cube really does craft great albums.  He is definitely one of my favorite rappers mos def!  I also really like the movie Friday.  

A tulpa, eh?  I need to do much more investigation on this.  Books have power.  Words have power.  Sometimes awful and destructive power.  I think someone has opened up a very bad door recently.  

I am very afraid that very soon someone is going to take me away.  

I’m off to eat some awful lasagna now and I think I’ll listen to a bit of Axxonn, which is my favorite radio show.  

Shrink-wrap your face!

All you devoted followers of The Cream are doubtlessly wondering how my little escapade to the bakery – that multicolored land of azucar, pan y wonder – went.  I am delighted to stand before you once more and apply fingertips to keyboard that I may recount this most splendid of tales.  I hitchhiked on over to Elena’s Bakery on 178th street over the course of roughly 90 minutes (traffic was delayed for a decent stretch due to a multicar pileup along the interstate).  The generous driver this time around was a middle-aged man from northern Ontario in town on business.  We discussed Martin Scorsese’s controversial 1988 film The Last Temptation of Christ and I recalled Harvey Keitel’s off-kilter portrayal of Judas Iscariot and remarked that he (Keitel, not Iscariot) looked good with red hair.  We also discussed Peter Gabriel’s soundtrack for that film and agreed it was some of his best work and possibly the very best.  I singled out the track “It is accomplished” as a personal favorite and a piece of rather exquisite and rapturous beauty.  He dropped me off one block from Elena’s Bakery and we’d built up enough off of a rapport during the 90 minute ride that our departure was tinged with regret for yours falsely, regret for all the lost possibilities, of a friendship that could never be for it was always too late for us.  He looked back only once as he drove away, proffering a solemn wave and I responded in kind. 

Ana Luisa was working the long shift that day though I was already privy to this knowledge.  As I entered to building I was immediately taken by the smell of freshly baked goods which were displayed in all their multicolored glory.  The pink bread in particular caught my eye with its resplendent pinkness.   I desired to grab one and stuff the entire thing in my mouth and in a way the idea of subsequently choking to death on pink bread right there in the middle of Elena’s Bakery on 178^th Street was highly appealing yet I resisted this urge.  

It was perhaps easier to cling to life once Ana Luisa saw me and I was graced with a smile, a wave and a cheerful “Hola!”.  No doubt I am a familiar presence around the bakery as I am known for frequently stopping in to purchase baked goods and occasionally sitting down at one of the small round tables to consume them while also reflecting on the random injustices of life.  I can’t deny that the sight of Ana Luisa hard at work – either in the preparation of pastries or ringing up purchases at the cash register – is always the highlight of my day whenever I am privileged enough to make it part of my day.  This held true as she sauntered her way around the front counter and came to greet me face to face.  Immediately I was taken again by the sway of her impossibly generous hips and thunderous thighs – both of which suggested she sampled on a regular basis the culinary treats she prepared – which were crammed into a dangerously tight pair of pin striped black dress pants (she was also wearing a white colored shirt tucked into said pants).  As I subtly gave her the once over I felt my pulse quicken when noticing that underneath the pants she was also wearing a pair of flesh colored pantyhose.  This was apparent as I could see an exposed area of her feet clearly encased in the hosiery as well as in a pair of teal high heel shoes whose color popped nicely.  

Drat, I’ve lost interest in my own narrative again!  I guess that’s what happens when your personality is disintegrating.  That emptiness is fresh and strong.  I’m only kidding of course.  My foul personality is alive and well (I think).  In fact, I’m going to hang a sign outside my door: deliver me from evil (or maybe it should say “I’m still alive”?).  I think tomorrow or another day I shall tell the rest.  Who knows (or cares?). 

He’s So Shy by the Pointer Sisters is such a fucking great song.  I fucking love it so much!  Thank You for this tune!  

She is trapped in this bed.  Everything is grey inside her room, the walls and windows are painted over with this color.  How long will she continue to pretend?  At least she has found a savior.  She can hide inside of him for a very long time and perhaps this will be the way out.  On a very recent day she saw the hate in his eyes clear for the first time.  After everything, the hate was so pure and obvious.  She is trapped inside this awful machine where she dutifully swallows every drop, smiling afterward and doing a curtsy.  She has to practice every sentence at least 100 times in her head before she can summon the strength to actually say it.  Many times she practices it 1000 times before and still she often chokes on her own voice.  They want to change every part of me and that is fine, she thinks to herself.  I can save a part of myself inside of here, inside of him, forever and no one will ever be able to touch that.  Oh, how she yearns to die so much of the time, moving on to a place where she would no longer see his eyes or hear his voice, where she would not have to see or hear anyone at all.  I have buried this here where no one will ever see it but I will always know it’s there.  She smiles and blood runs through her teeth and down her chin, spilling onto her breasts.  

Like many, I tuned into the Bowl yesterday and though I will not comment on the game itself as I am woefully unqualified I will say I found Coldplay to be dependably awful, this time even more so as the singer actually quoted from legitimately great artists like U2 (the group Coldplay rips off the most) and Prince.  Beyonce was…typical: leotard, ass, whatever.  I see people are saying her new song is her most political ever.  I read the lyrics.  We live in a rather depressing world I’d say.  I will also never get used to supposedly very personal songs that are written by someone other than the singer.  What the hell do I know though?!  I guess Bruno Mars was Bruno Mars, not really sure what to say.  I’m that coward who voices his opinions behind the safety of a computer screen.  Love me!

In the second episode I was overwhelmed with joy to see the return of Sexy Star!  My last blog post had a cryptic allusion to this lovely Luchadora!  I hope she returns for episode 3, this new story is intriguing. 

I watched the recent (American) remake of Martyrs last night (or was it this morning?) and I’m sorry to say it was a toothless pile of crap!  Perhaps I’m incapable of  being impartial as the original is one of my favorite horror flicks of recent memory but I’m at a loss as to why such a pointless remake was greenlit in the first place, especially when it seems no effort was even given to get this stinker into theatres.  I know lots of folks are too stupid for subtitles but I would rather people watch the original with the subtitles turned off and not understand any of the dialogue than have them watch this lifeless and soulless thing.  I’m a coward.  I’m at a loss.  I know very little about the brothers who directed the remake.  Was this really their vision?  What did they hope to achieve with this safe and plodding mess? I don’t understand anything anymore except that I am a miserable failure.

  
It’s way past time I got myself a really fine pair of shades, I think that would mean everything.  

Ride your bicycle on me!

I need to rent an opinion.

Lucha Underground is on tonight and I thank good gravy for that fact!  The premiere of this new episode means today is a great day despite me remaining a miserable failure.  I think I’ve been happier in recent days.  I’m probably the most positive person I’ve ever met.  All you fools who are prioritizing money as numero uno are going to be badly disappointed.  Tee hee, but I don’t judge.  We are all in for a very vicious and unwelcome surprise.  

When I woke up this morning I promptly consumed 2 eggs over easy as well as toast and a cup of scalding hot coffee.  I love the rough sensation of my thick tongue once the black coffee has done its burning work.  I also drank a glass of water that I may better stay properly hydrated.  Following this, I listened to track 9 of Scott Walker’s 4th solo album which was first released in the great year of 1969 and simply titled Scott 4.  Is it my favorite of Scott’s early solo albums you are no doubt screaming in an inquisitorial tone?  Who can say?  The only thing I know for sure is that I am a supremely grotesque individual and every time I look in the mirror I feel deep disgust and self-loathing.  Such is the nature of wisdom.  

I am in love with an alien.  Why do you insist on wearing that?  Don’t you know it only drives me to a deep and raving insanity?  I can’t help myself, please forgive me!  Please!  Sweet fabrics, sweet unknown denier.  And those red boots, oh God I can’t think straight anymore.  What they must be like after a hard day (and perhaps night) of crime fighting.  

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about those dead spots on the internet.  Do ya’ll know what I’m talking about?  Sorry to slip back into the Texan drawl I’d tried so hard to leave behind but sometimes it just comes back to me like the ghost of a dear friend who was brutally murdered.  But do ya’ll understand?  Those dead spots, the black spots on the internet where truly awful things lie.  It is best to stay far far away from those places though I sometimes wonder about the information being passed along on those channels and who and/or what are the forces which frequent those areas.  And what about those radio stations, Russian ones perhaps, that seemingly plays only white noise or a bizarre series of clicks and other such sounds.  There is horrific intelligence being passed along right beside every one of us each and every day.  There are chemicals being dropped on us right now.  We are kept fat and stupid because that is what we want.  What disgusting creatures we are.  Social media has us even more willfully ignorant.  Please excuse me while I go post a few more asshole pictures of myself eating dinner or getting drunk or with my oh-so-special friends and/or significant other.  This is exactly what they want, what they need!  We only think we’re dangerous when in fact we are nothing more than a very large group of petulant idiotic narcissists.  The reality of the situation is happening all around us but we are too myopic to see.  I hope we will not be too late to snap out of our pathetic self-aggrandizing bubbles.  

Darn dogs, biting mailmen just to hear them squeal.  This brain is nothing more than a squishy hodgepodge of too much Technicolor and drum machines.  It would be severely inaccurate to refer to me as a living breathing Rorschach test for I am nothing so splendid or interesting.  My tummy hurts.  I think I’m going to go chew on some chalky antacid pills and then take my morning shots of Tequila Altos Plata.  

Guys like Harvey Keitel are moving up list of favorite actors.  I recall seeing Abel Ferrara’s classic 1992 flick Bad Lieutenant in old dollar theatre back in the day.  In those days I never went anywhere without my leather jacket (I could keep my needles in the inside pockets and the material was so think they never poked me by accident!) and a pocketful of Raisinettes.  I was seeing a gorgeous south-of-the-border minx named Leticia at that time that I’d met at Tio’s Club down on 150th Street during a weekly salsa dancing competition.  During those nights she would wear red dresses that stopped right at the thigh as well as fishnet hosiery and black peep-toe high heels.  She was a very friendly soul and I enjoyed watching her set fire to the dance floor with her deliciously weighty derriere and jiggling thunderous thighs.  I chatted her up after downing several glasses of the cheapest vodka on the rocks they had (I recall there was a new bartender working that night, a real sweetheart who went light on the rocks) and despite the fact that we barely understood one another we both felt an instant connection.  I was ready to acquiesce to her every desire and such it was no problem at all for me when – after hitchhiking back to her apartment some forty-odd blocks away – she confessed her dominant desires and I subsequently found myself on my back, laying on the soft green carpet of her flat while she removed her shoes and planted her fishnet hosiery encased feet right on my face.  Her feet were richly perfumed by the oils and pheromones naturally produced by her bountiful body and through the sweaty and scintillating excursion of salsa dancing.  She laughed as she pressed down harder; calling me her “esclavo” adding that I was “patetico” and “inutil” and saying “Te ordeno que adoras mis pies!”.  I look back fondly on those times and feel fortunate that Leticia and I still communication on a regular basis through the wonders of Skype. 

But yes, Bad Lieutenant is a tremendous film.  Ferrara’s best?  Hard to say as he has a rather brilliant filmography though Keitel gives an impactful and fearless performance.  I would also highly recommend the non-sequel, non-remake Bed Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, the 2009 flick directed by Werner Herzog and starring Nicolas Cage and Eva Mendes.  That is an eminently watchable and engaging piece of cinema and features an unhinged Cage at some of his all-time Cageiest!  

I have the sense that all this Los Angeles black magick is not going to end well for any of us.  Still, his skin is painted a deep indigo as he stands in front of that stained glass and it is quite beautiful.  I don’t care what the critics say; I say it’s solid as a rock!

Today, very much like yesterday and for about as long as I can remember, I am stunned by own uselessness.  However I feel a bit more upbeat about it today and I approach things with a childlike enthusiasm so I guess that is a marked improvement!  

I’m off to the bakery now; multicolored land of azucar, pan y wonder, don’t wait up!  

The correct word for straw?!

Naturally I’ve been listening to the song Call on Me by the great ERIC PRYDZ for the past five hours.  I love that tune so much.  Just try to listen to that son without jumping up and down like a rabbit on the verge of a nuclear explosion!  I also love the films of Abel Ferrara and I wish to watch them all in a rich marathon while drinking several bottles of vodka!  I have not edited anything because I was too consumed with being worthless so read at your own peril.  
This new green tea I’m drinking is so fucking good I might have to rip my fucking face off!
Boy howdy, if I can return to discussion about suckling on the glass teat!?  Is that even in the proper form of a question?!  Damned if I know (Bruce said).  
I was Federico’s on 47th Street and I’d only had one beer, one glass of vodka on the rocks and I was halfway through an Ammareto sour that for the miserable life of me I could not figure out why I’d ordered.  Juliana was my waitress and as usual the only spark of life in the place and the only reason why I would ever bother to frequent such a reprehensible shithole as Federico’s with it’s rampant black flies, peeling paint and stench of the dumpsters that awaited out back.  Long ago I deduced that the kitchen workers had to leave the back doors open due to improper ventilation which caused smoke build up inside but this cavalier door policy was directly responsible for the aforementioned stench and insect problem.  A catch-22 in the classic sense then.  Or was it?  I often wondered if I knew how to properly use that term.  
No matter, I thought while loosening how sinfully ugly polyester tie and rubbing my fingers against the three days growth of beard on my face.  I would deal with all those inconveniences and many more if it meant I could longingly with pure lust in my heart at Juliana.  She came straight from the sun drenched heart of Mexico and her English was crass and broken up but somehow lovely at the same time, a rough poetry.  Truth be told I could barely understand her most of the time but she was always able to get the main points across with great aplomb.  
Oh now, do you see what happened?  I lost interest in my own tortured narrative.  Sex and all it’s brethren are so uninteresting.  I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, I’m the sorriest son of a bitch I know.  But a few glasses of vodka it all starts to feel the same.  But no, even through that I was able to notice the tiniest difference.  Oh, I am such a terrible person.  Be my god, we will be the physical manifestation of love this night.  God was not the right word though was it?  A bit too gender exclusive.  Or is it?  I have failed everything.  
I think what I really wanted to say was that the season premiere Lucha Underground was amazing, perfection television and this is coming from someone who does not particularly care for the television format.  It is the only wrestling show to have ever been nominated for an Emmy but I am the biggest hypocrite in the world for bringing that up when I always say that awards don’t mean a darn thing.  I’ll let you in on another juicy secret: I’m also an ugly, disgusting loser but don’t tell anyone.  But don’t let that deter you from Lucha Underground.  That season premiere was beautiful and – not to belabor the point that many have already made – more happened and progressed in that single hour than typically happens in a year of WWE.  I see this becoming one of my favorite shows of all time and it already provides much needed comfort in those moments where I am most cognizant of my innumerable failures.  
By the same token I must now take the time to extol the virtues of the most recent episode of The X-Files which air last night and which was titled “Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster”.  As someone who has watched this series since its very inception and who has seen every episode hundreds of times  I can safely say that last night’s was one of the absolute very best and I feel so deeply grateful for this revival the series has been granted.  
Time passed and I became progressively more inebriated.  During those moments it was impossible not to reflect on the profound and innumerable failure of my worthless existence.
I saw those glassed tangled up in the hair.  This was the start of a deadly new obsession I knew.  Please don’t talk to me.  Why do people insist on talking to me?  
We’re all just toiling and piddling around and accomplishing nothing.  I need to employ many many more cut-ups and then maybe then this will all mean something.  But until that moment I am staring out into a dead space and what I see is quite terrifying.  Maybe a beautiful Mexican lady cop will tase me while insulting me and make me feel a whole lot better.  
Comes from France   That’s not even a complete sentence, is it?  
Tristan is that boy inside of me.  
My beautiful new muse came to me, her body was rain.  Her eyes were grey.
Of course, I think as my head goes light (sadly not for the last time), how utterly proper.  
I’m not sure if any of the preceding (or proceeding) makes any sense.  I might not have been in my right frame of mind when relating these tales.  Oh well, it doesn’t really matter too much anyway.  I suppose nothing really matters anymore.  Ho-hum.  Woe is me.  It’s all shit though, isn’t it?  It’s all turned to shit!  
I rented the American remake of Martyrs and though I have a deep love for the original and though it is one of my favorite horror movies of recent years (or perhaps because of this) I have stunningly low expectation for this remake.  I think I’ll watch it while eating a bowl of Cap N’ Crunch cereal with soy milk (cause cows are for calves).  
On the ‘Book Maria Celeste posted a photo of her “Look del dia” which had a close up for her feet in hosiery and black high heel shoes. Is she trying to kill me?!  

You know nothing is the same, not a motherfucking thing.  What a vile shithole this is.  

“I’m not sure I want to hear about that.”

shaking and striped, nation in my

Away, away, says love.  Closer, closer, says hate. 

Things are in a perennial state of grey and all of those who laid bets that I would somehow survive are going to be quite disappointed.  It is unexpected to wake up to these glassy interiors; a part of me must believe that with the night and sleep will come some mystical change, altering everything into a mistaken belief of purity of perfection.  It was my own heart working in sickening tandem with my diseased brain that set this trap and now there is no true means of escape aside from the obvious option.  That path generates a flood of positive emotions but who can truly be sure of its viability?  I wonder how much knowledge will actually be granted to me by death’s release.  All this gnashing of teeth is taking me nowhere.  I don’t suppose there remains any chance of being forgiven.  One and two are gone and I know he imagines that a third would be quite the charm.  But if three are good then four must be great and five must be stellar and so on and so forth.  It is all basic arithmetic, right?  We are seeing the language of a much high being.  I am hungry and terrified.  He does not have the strength to combat anything.  Reality has ceased expressing his (her?) self.  Don’t be so brave to talk about the fiction of your salvation.  You are going to be regretting things for a very long time and you’re only going to have a couple ideas on how to cope and they are both bad. 

Why does everyone look so sad and miserable?

Perspective is a strange thing.  I’m walking through very well-lit corridors and I see zombies all around me.  It is a beautiful thing to be closed away somewhere.  For every one that is removed I feel as though a pin is dropping somewhere and a considerable weight is being lifted.  It would be fitting to say I traveled with him and in an instant his wishes became my wishes and I was somehow able to see them through to fruition.  Everyone knows who they truly are.  Once you scrape away all the pretensions no one is able to fully pretend.  I think it must be quite a shock to obtain so much and to think you’ve made real something that previously only existed in dreams only to find that you are rapturously more miserable than ever.  I’m flooded with arrogance and laugh at failures.  Everyone is losing their capacity for kindness and I wish they would remove those masks of skin so I can see what they really look like underneath.  I’m sure we would be much more comfortable, able to breathe a little better.  There is the glorious sound of metal on metal and it is all I can do not to scream at the top of my lungs.  He thinks of something popping with great force and all that fragrant irretrievability which would spring forth and give life to such ruinous origin.  Oh sweet muse, this was also a necessary subtraction.  Your number has not yet been counted.  A million of me are essentially worthless, a million of each of them even less.  No, maybe we should flip that around.  People are earning their faces through dedication.  You need to tell me why any of this is happening because I can no longer relate to all these increasingly bizarre constructs.  Have you made peace with his inherent uselessness?  What did the rain look like when you were shining such a bright light on it?    

We live in the void of metamorphoses. 

And this is the bit of vital information, right?  This is when we realize that no one – not a single person – is a saying a damn thing.  There is no relevant information being passed around, only mindless white noise.  There are daggers going through my brain and they make it difficult to think.  All that color saturation worked wonders however.  Things inside are saying jump and something tells me I should be putting on an impeccably tailored navy blue suit.  He’s sinking and no one can tell him the right way.  What are the correct words to say to be left alone?  Let us keep inserting things directly into our brains that we may feel much less the foul tugging of our rotten spirits.  I think the same people have confessed to me the same things over and over again and we’re all spinning around and there are plastic horses with red eyes nearby and when they talk it is in a very deep voice and I can often hear it when I close my eyes.  He doesn’t want to say things anymore; it is a much too mean and painful act.  I’m living inside a black and white photograph.  Is anyone else feeling unusually weak in the knees?  There is a strange type of double vision taking place (though that’s probably not the right word) wherein I am looking at things through my eyes at the same time I am outside myself and looking at myself from across the room or fifty feet above it.  Neither of these vantage points feels real but both make me want to vomit.  I think I met someone today who felt real and I think I talked to this someone for a few minutes and but I’m not anywhere near positive about that.  And then just like that I smell smoke mixed with bubblegum and it is somehow the best thing ever.  We are mute from one moment to the next and things move slow and I am not sure if they are ruined entirely or not but I think they are.  I am laughing hysterically over how unbelievably awful everything is and I remember the sage words of an ancient king and they ring in my head and then I’m clenching my fists because my mind is too tight and I feel like crying and nothing feels good anymore but he is going to embrace that hairy old monster and they will laugh together. 

This is a dangerously psychotic man in the corner there and I think someone needs to exterminate him with great haste lest we all run the risk of catching his cerebral infection.