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 178th 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.
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