i'm looking for a better place to d (respect respect always)

Steamed glass whispers keep coming to me every night.  don’t confuse love with something fleeting or exclusive.  We are constantly being reborn.  

Brian was quite right in that we haven’t gone any farther than this. What a bizarre desire, to be drilling through the spiritus santus tonight.  

Red Maria.  I nearly exploded right then and there.  While she danced and pranced and played all the major roles in this tragedy.  Later on I think we played at a little Tarzan style game but I could be wrong.  

“what fun it is to talk to an intelligent woman wearing stockings as she crosses her legs.  That little staticky sound of rustling nylon can make me happy on several levels.”  Brilliant.  Don’t credit me though.  I am but a humble observer.  I have only read one other DeLillo book and despite its brevity I found it to be a very challenging work though the Rothko references were pleasing.  Odd that there is a recurring Cronenberg connection in the recent stuff I am reading.  I pulled out my old copy of Pet Semetary the other day too, the one with the cat on the cover and green spine.  Old is a relative term as I think it is still the mostly widely available printing though I have possessed this particular copy for well over a decade.  It smells great.  Maybe it will be the next book I (re)read.  Classic King. 

Yeah, that’s right, it was Sunday morning when I could not sleep a wink so instead I watched the movie Crash (the 96 Cronenberg flick of course and not that horribly contrived Paul Haggis movie about racism from the early 2000’s).  I drank very cheap whiskey (on the rocks) while watching and experienced severe panic attacks and several moments of palpable dread wherein I was certain things were going to enter my room and take me away.  I’m actually not sure now if this happened Sunday morning or Saturday morning but it was definitely a morning and a good time overall. 

Can I travel back on moonbeam levels?  I think this, at last, might be my re-entry point.  I have missed you so much.  Things have not been at all the same.  

I loved the music I heard in the trailers for Nocturnal Animals (which also looks quite interesting with maybe a Blood Simple vibe?) and immediately set about investigating who be the composer.  I think I shall order that disc quite soon.  Actually I discovered the artist and corresponding album last night after roughly 4 minutes of hard investigative work.  I promptly ordered a physical copy through a third party distributor operating within the framework of amazon.com.  The disc is called Elements and the artist is Ludovico Einaudi.  Current estimates say the disc will arrive late this week or early next.  Upon arrival of this item I will remove the plastic shrink-wrap and then listen to it, perhaps initially while cooking or relaxing on my bourgeois sofa and then likely whilst writing and almost certainly in my car while driving through the rain or dead of night. 

She’s a peach, that’s for sure.  He always tells himself this is the last time but he always lies.  If only…what was the codeword?  I think it was “peanut butter” or maybe it was a light punch to the shoulder.  Either way, it was the sound of his doom, of the deadbolt sliding shut and locking him away in a place from which he could never hope to escape.  But then, he has no desire to escape, does he?  She was wearing an orange shirt that day.  Pure, every ounce.  He will never forget.  Orange and black.  It was like she was dressed for Halloween.  How utterly proper, he thinks as his head goes light.  Is it time for tequilas?  Why must you always wink?  Please don’t touch the shoulder!  His bones might disintegrate and the contents of his body ooze out of his orifices and wash down the nearby drain, leaving behind only a thick puddle of skin and hair.  I’m so ugly. 

After all these years I have finally found Jorge.  The next move is mine.  Now that I have found him I will find her.  Years ago I made a solemn vow and now it seems my ultimate goal – my entire reason for being – may finally be in reach.  Yamila, I swear….

 

Like the complete idiot I am I utterly forgot that Marina Abramovic’s memoir is released today.  Damn it, I am short of the coin necessary to make the purchase but very soon I will remedy this and I will buy that book and read it and if I love it I will eat it afterward, I love chewing on paper.  On an unrelated subject I wonder how much of that attention paid to the Andreasson affair had a hand in recent moments of lost time and lost sleep.  All the same, it was difficult to look away. 

Word on the streets is that Colombian chanteuse Shakira is releasing a new single this Fri with a new album set to drop around the middle of December.  This news pleases me. 

My experiences include sitting in a comfort chair with soothing oscillations.  I haven’t had a chance to organize my thoughts on either Lady Gaga’s new album or Leonard Cohen’s but I think soon this will happen.  Maybe.  I’m going to drive somewhere at some point today and I’m also going to pass some time on the telephone.  Maybe I’ll eat a slab of undercooked red meat.  I think there was a deer in my bedroom last night.  I remember waking up and seeing it standing there at the door and then it walked over to my bed and I think I giggled a little because it was weird how it wasn’t making any noise with its footsteps.  It stopped on  my side of the bed and I couldn’t move and in one moment I felt tranquil if a bit puzzled and in the next I felt terrifying and knew something was very wrong but I couldn’t move or make a sound.  The deer had huge eyes and it just stared at me and I don’t know what happened next.  I haven’t been able to remember but when I was hypnotized the doctor later told me I  started crying during this part of the memory and that I told her I couldn’t go any further or else I would die. 

In addition to the album mentioned above I also ordered a Criterion bluray of Fellini’s Amarcord and a book by Yukio Mishima.  I can’t help myself (lightning is striking again).  

finally found that pink and fence one more clearly

So, simultaneously fortunately and unfortunately for yours falsely, the step-son arrived (wearing a New York Yankees hat though this fell off once the punishment began in earnest) which means I had no choice but to open up my already strained pocket book.  I understand totally how that lack of responsibility could upset her, despite the fact that she’d only been there for two weeks.  Of course this was all viewed through a humble pane of glass.  These days, things feel much more real through the glass than in person. 

Tom Wait’s Rain Dogs in the sound of New York though I won’t say THE sound of New York because such a thing probably does not exist (or does it?!).  Still, it is masterful, running the gamut of all the mixed and largely nonsensical emotions running through the corroded corridors of my mind.  You know, it’s funny (not really) but it until I read this interpretation I never considered that Scott Walker’s albums Tilt, The Drift and Bish Bosch could actually be something of a Mobius Strip wherein Bish Bosch is just as much entry as it is exit.  I find that to be a most compelling reading, especially if you like to pass the time by blowing up bullfrogs with a straw.  Also, that new Godzilla flick was something else, eh?  Good to have the original G-ster back in action. 

You said you loved that red-head because she was your wife.  What a beautiful connection.  She looked familiar and later on I realized why but she was not the same woman.  It felt safe, right?  Kissing her on the cheek and then on her lips, it somehow felt right even through the tears.  But it’s so hazy now and you’re starting to wonder if it even happened at all.

I so desire for my soul to be stung and to be fucked over.  This January sadness may return along with all the ice but I feel ready this time and I know it has to be this way.  Can I actually take this all literally?  It would be almost impossible not to but would that be doing a grave disservice to…?  There is no form or formula.  There is no establishment.  I think the brass still speaks for this. 

The newest trailer for Star Wars Rogue One was requisitely thrilling and supplied me with sufficient intrigue that I am now excited (albeit mildly) to watch the film.  However, I should add that a huge chunk of my positivity has to do with the footage of one Mads Mikkelsen (swoon) who always makes jump and squeal with girlish glee.  Still, I have repeatedly said that these non-trilogy anthological films have potential in many ways to be more compelling than the new trilogy due to the enhanced freedom in storytelling they are theoretically given. 

I want to give my highest compliments to author Paula Hawkins because The Girl on the Train was a real crackerjack novel!  A real fucking-intense-can’t-put-down-page-turning-corker of a book and I absolutely fucking loved it!  I figuratively and then literally devoured it!  Of course my opinion doesn’t matter because I’m a worthless piece of dogshit but still, what a read!  Boy howdy though, I am now reading Crash (no relation to that horribly contrived early 2000’s film about racism) by J.G. Ballard  and it will surely not be the last Ballard book I scope out though it is surely the first and shall always be remembered as such!  Mayhaps I’ll go on over to Barnes and Noble Booksellers at this very moment and purchase the rest of his bibliography and then dance a Cha Cha in the streets while wearing an inner tube and drinking farm fresh milk!  Or maybe I’ll finally do what needs to be done and employ that most obvious equation of 1 ME + 1 Bottle of Sleeping Pills + 1 Bottle of Wine (white or red, doesn’t matter, but nothing too sweet please) = The World A Better Place. 

Still, it is renewing, rejuvenating and inspiring dare I say.

You know that we are living in a material shit!  And I am a material clit!  Blab forty and flab fifty, am I right?! Oh, what a way with words I have said the magic lamp as it descended gracefully into a room full of peanut butter stuffed pillows.  Let us not battle with raving psychotropic antelopes!  Let us instead savor the fervent fruit of our juicy sexual mounds while we writhe and contort and the delirious wet smacking sounds make a cacophony that wakes up the neighbors, tee hee.  Ah, the stench and sound of bodies during sexual acts; we are quite the repulsive creatures.  How it makes me want to vomit.  Who would be there to lap up the vomit though while jamming fingers into their anal cavity and smiling broadly to show up those expensive and lovingly capped teeth?  I had ribs for dinner last night, don’t you know?! 

Do I want to decode this final transmission?  This is one last parting gift, somewhere from the stars or maybe behind them.  We all want to go out screaming.  I heard this take place in the early morning before anyone else was awake.  I lay in bed and everything was right for a single moment. I was reminded of the great nothing I am and cherished that feeling.  I never want to cease discovery.  There was no plan.  When I met you it all changed.  A word in that last sentence doesn’t quite fit.  There’s nothing here anymore.  You’re weathered and beaten down but never more beautiful.  It echoes still. 

She was wearing a pair of pantyhose on her face and when she kissed me and then stuffed another used pair into my mouth deep enough where I was gagging I explosively ejaculated into my rent trousers, right leg tingling as always happens during my finest orgasms.  She threw banana cream pies at my face before all of course.    

“Feel the power.”  Oh my strained pocketbook!  

my ten legs have been eating too much dough

I told him I thought he had a fiduciary responsibility to oversee the feeding of those turquoise bunnies to which he staunchly replied, “Don’t let me catch you bathing with spools of copper wire again!  Back in my day there was no way to tell the difference between the dentist’s chair and a new pair loafers crafted from rich Corinthian leather so just keep that in mind the next time you decide to sing out of tune on a busy street corner while bars of platinum are being locked up in a Styrofoam vault!” 

                                          

It was true.  I’d traveled the world in search of the perfect lace and visited countless lace factories, even going so far as to planting high octane explosive devices in many of them.  Though to be fair, many kings find themselves in similar positions of being trapped in midlevel floors with no other options but to chuck a few grenades and see what sticks.

Carl began discussing at some medium length the difficulties inherent to today’s geopolitical climate, particularly as it relates to errant meteor showers in feudal Japan and Sara was so convinced by the hazy cadence of his speech that she immediately began to dance a flamenco there on the spot as though she no longer had the sense she was born with.  I promptly asked a few of my old chums if they wanted to engage in an accompanying circle jerk to which Jeb replied, “If freshly mowed grass were the only way to ensure nuclear fission as a viable source of renewable energy some 20 years from now, don’t you think we would all stop setting our alarm clocks to ring at the exact moment foreign plastics are being used in the preparation of four course meals down at the local animal shelters?  I can’t remember the last time computers actually helped me to change my socks but you can be damn fucking sure I’m not going to let the bitter ex screw me out of the chance to have freshly baked bread every night after I practice arithmetic!”

Later on, while shitbirds soared through the inky night, I began to wonder if I could possibly consume enough cardboard boxes to properly set up all my illegitimate children in community colleges just south of the equator as it passes majestically over Panama. 

Soft-serve connoisseurs at that very moment were diving like rolls of money through some bizarre proximity which was encroaching on my newfound sense of meatiness.  One of them was so boisterous about his lightly painted baseball cap he began to discuss at great length the anomalous quotient of reptiles to land cruisers in the event of radical hydrogenous cement oriented stimulation.  It was all I could do not to smear greasepaint on my face and then take a swift nap, head resting on a stack of tattered old books whose pages did not contain words, but rather sheer numeric polydactyl principles.  But I was too busy ejaculating rainbow scented seminal fluid into a massive mountain of talking granola to realize that if one could somehow cross the hyper intelligence of the Italian swordfish with the perennially optimistic insistence of the steel plated pronoun sympathizer then the resultant combination would be unbeatable in any forty-seven legged race except for ones in which paper cups were not permitted.  This made me laugh so loud that undercarriages erupted from some ancient fissure and the color blue ceased to have any meaning beyond some vague notions of pseudoscience which still believed in the practical applications of plaque as it related to silt depositories. 

Of course I knew there was nothing to be done at this point and Lori would have no choice but to turn her hands into cybernetic entities and then buy a new hula hoop to go along with that recent political discourse we found lurking at the bottom of a cup of Korean tea.  However immediately preceding this most precarious of revelations we were unexpectedly whisked away to a time when there was no longer a need for such pesky practices as counting and eating soup and thusly I was able to suspend disbelief for roughly five hours longer than the average time it takes my overgrown testicles to renew themselves after a long hard day of slam poetry down at the local Greek chapter of my favorite barbershop quartet.  I was so elated by this news that I swiftly pulled out a stack of blank three-by-five cards and then pretended I was the imaginary friend of a goldfish while the radio burped and belched and Lucas was too busy planting seeds of doubt in the garden out back to pay much notice or reap the benefits of a new set of tires gregariously installed onto the back of a long gestating plan of attack. 

Naturally this recent development forced me to confront my own cerebral shittiness which was further exacerbated by a bucket of white paint calling my name and demanding a new cornucopia for the upcoming grand re-opening of a village constructed entirely of squids.  It was only in that precise moment of reflection where I was quite surreptitiously able to overcome the callow resources of the damned and finally secure a spot in the loquacious bidding war which was currently taking place between two superpowers quite literally hell bent on stock-piling fossil fuels to use and abuse during the upcoming gubernatorial conversations which would undoubtedly infect the cultural zeitgeist to such a great extent that I would have no choice but to grab a handful of neon colored pipe cleaners and water the neighbor’s plants while wearing a pair of lightly used sneakers that had been purchased entirely through the new and trendy universal currency of pork n’ beans. 

“Well,” Steve said sulkily while sipping rich black coffee from a catcher’s mitt, “I guess that answers our earlier questions about whether or not dinosaurs will one day walk the earth again.  Hard to imagine the next time I’ll need to purchase a leather belt or make my own magma underneath trenchant conditions of brail trying to speak only in verbs while old Marcie waits on us to let her know when she can finally return that novelty tennis racket.” 

“I concur,” I told him, bringing the fleshy handlebars up to sternum level that I may better appreciate the subtle nuances of a carefully crafted medieval implantation; such sapience is increasingly hard to bind in this moist and tender day and age.  

Mystification is an interesting one to end on (and more Regina! YES!)

So the first official pic of Amber Heard as Mera from the upcoming Justice League movie was just released sometime in the wee small hours of the morning and I have to say she looks so gosh darn amazing and the pic made my heart leap with joy and love and glee and I swooned and I instantly fell truly madly deeply in love with this live action depiction of a character whose comic book counterpart had already captured my heart and undying devotion several years ago though I must be a bit of  a downer (such is my nature) and say this joy comes with one small caveat in the form of something I frequently bitch about (including in yesterday’s blog post albeit in regards to a different flick) and that is of course the washed out color though this is only a publicity photo and I could see the actual film sport a much more vibrant look (though that is far from certain given the darker palette of Man of Steel and Batman V Superman) which I so hope for, especially for some of these characters like Flash, Aquaman and Mera whose world just seems like it would be far better suited to bold and popping color! 

Lately I have been listening to a fair amount of Frank Zappa and I find it to be very engaging music though I must hasten to add that I am often put off by artists who persist in extended solos and long meandering jams (despite my love of metal I’ve never been a guitar solo kind of guy, sorry, and I can recall on more than on occasion being at a concert and thinking “that’s great but can you please play a song now”) but I find there are at least a few artists (and likely many more that I will warm to) who are able to make those passages interesting and innovative and Zappa seems to be one of those and I’m guessing a large part of that is his jazz-like approach to rock which creates a certain poetic flow to those passages – or entire songs in some cases as many are purely instrumental – and proves himself to be a masterful band leader in complete control of the foundational aspects of his compositions which allows for improvisation to take place on top of this and – when he is so inclined – creates a delightfully innovative backdrop for some very sophomoric and often highly amusing lyrics with the end result being an uber compelling sonic stew which I would actually compare to Funkadelic in many ways which is another one of those bands who makes long interesting jams and I was reminded of this yesterday as I listened to their classic 1970 album Free Your Mind…And Your Ass Will Follow right before listening to Zappa’s own classic 1974 album Apostrophe (’). 

To think of it all in terms of a slasher-flick as alt-rock record is a genius notion I would never have thought of myself because my way of thinking is sadly limited but it actually makes quite a bit of sense, especially since Walker has repeatedly said he is a cinema fan and – I believe – of Italian cinema though I wonder if he would be the type to watch Giallos though as I have no relationship with the man whatsoever and he is notoriously guarded it would be foolish of me to speculate so I guess all I can really do is note the funny parallel between Lucio Fulci’s trashy, gory and great 1982 flick The New York Ripper in terms of the twisted demonic Donald Duck voice the killer uses and this same bizarre voice appearing on Walker’s endlessly grim and fascinating 2006 album The Drift though I suppose it could be a coincidence but maybe there’s something more to it but either way I think I’ll have to listen to The Drift at very high volume while I’m driving around (in between failing at various things in various locales today) today which is always a joy as it is an artistic masterpiece much like many of Walker’s albums though I must also quickly add on a semi-unrelated note that Arcade Fire have captured my interest (I know I’m stupidly late to the game) and that song Keep the Car Running is so damn good I listened to it on repeat recently while driving around at night and reflecting on my perennially useless but often amusing existence. 

I woke up this morning and consumed eggs, toast and black coffee though I hasten to add I put A1 Steak Sauce on my eggs (it’s that important) and following this I tended to some requisitioning which previously kept me up at all mad hours of the night but, of course, I found to slip in a glass of cheap corner gas station whiskey on the rocks while watching an episode of The Wire which I find to be written and constructed like a rich full novel and at some point I fell asleep on the floor where I eventually woke up quite cold but at least I wasn’t plagued by horrific nightmares as has been so common lately though truth be told they do not bother me so much and I know it is of my own creation as I have been reading about far too many things like Gaia and Project Serpo lately to say nothing of the pale horses which continue to run marathons somewhere in the inner corridors of my mind so I guess I can’t and shall not complain but I’m pleased to say after (or was it in between?) said requisitioning I was also able to plan a bit for some mirth and frivolity which will be a more than welcome respite from these busy days though there are some last minute obligations to tend to and gosh, I hope I don’t forget to set up some recordings before I begin my afternoon and early evening of frolicking through those mean streets!

In case I wasn’t clear earlier: Hubba hubba, yowza, me likey, homina homina homina, boing!!!!  Those old records are so greasy and oily; real great grimy funk.  Let’s make some new chords which will clang and clash with beautiful might and I need to see the Fellini flick Amarcord (Criterion put out a beautiful blu ray of it that I should buy).  I think I need to read some books by Yukio Mishima and also read a bit more about the man himself. 

I haven’t been able to stop imagining her forcibly sticking the long heel of her shoe into my mouth.  

Me love that new design (redemption for that previous awful thing! and purple! YES!)

Ah, today has arrived at last.  I’m still a worthless failure but today will act as a recuperative salve, a panacea for the pain; nothing will take this shit-eating grin off my face.  I just love eating shit!  And grinning!  I can’t reveal every secret, loyal readers.  You will have to deduce this one for yourself.  But I promise the rewards are 1000 times greater than anything you could imagine. 

So a rough cut of the international trailer for The Dark Tower (based on the book series by Stephen King) was leaked online yesterday and I savagely hunted it down, first watching one without audio and then one with audio.  I’m hesitant to throw out too many thoughts since the video and sound quality was not great and the effects were clearly unfinished (complete with some green screen shots) and it feels unfair to judge something which was not ready to be released.  I will say that the two lead actors – Idris Elba as Roland Deschain (AKA the Gunslinger) and Matthew McConaughey as Randall Flagg (AKA The Man in Black, The Walkin’ Dude, The Dark Man, The Hardcase, Ageless Stranger, Walter Padick, Walter O’ Dim, Marten Broadcloak, Nyarlathotep, Bill Hinch, Russell Faraday, Richard Fannin, Richard Freemantle, Rudin Filaro, The Covenant Man, Richard Fry, Robert Franq and Ramsey Forrest) look fantastic in their respective roles.  McConaughey especially feels like a perfect representation of what I always pictured and heard while reading those books.  I am also intrigued as to the manner in which they are structuring these movies – not as direct adaptations per se but almost as a sequel to the series, pulling freely from its rich mythology.  The announcement of three planned movies as well as a TV show which would adapt book IV Wizard and Glass is an intriguing plan though I do feel the books and their mythology might be a little too far off the beaten path to be commercially successful as films and it would not surprise me if this first movie does not do well enough to make those sequels and accompanying show a reality.  Which leads me to my big concern about this leaked trailer: I hope they are not going to make significant changes to make this more mainstream and therefore more common and less interesting.  I saw a lot of Jake in this footage; great character but not the protagonist but I could see a movie studio deciding to focus on him (and his world) as an easy entry point for an unfamiliar audience.  Ultimately, it will be necessary to separate my feelings on the books from this movie and view each as separate entities.  I will await the official trailer before further discussion on how the film looks. 

Still, despite any misgivings of the film I can feel my love of the books renewed and I may try to reread the entire series before the movie comes out (though that may difficult since it comes out in February and there several other things I’ve been Jonesin’ to read).  What’s groovy is that I never read The Wind Through the Keyhole (book 4.5 written after the series was finished) or the short story The Little Sisters of Eluria (which takes place before the first book but I think after the flashbacks from the 4^th)  so this I’ll have new (to me) Dark Tower prose to mentally and emotionally consume.  Pulling my old copies of the books off the shelf and smelling those glorious pages brought back all the good feels, ya’ll!  Maybe I’ll buy the collections of all the comic books too and really delve deep into the mythology.  Fuck it!  Why the hell not?!  All hail the Crimson King! 

There’s a couple other trailers I wish to briefly discuss.  2 years ago I made one of the biggest mistakes of my pathetic life when I failed to put John Wick on my list of the best movies of 2014, instead relegating it to a dubious spot in the honorable mentions.  However since then I have watched that film roughly 859 times and find it to be consistently grand and beautiful.  Naturally I was as pleased as a starving man being gifted a pastrami on rye sandwich when I learned of the sequel and last week I was finally able to salivate over the trailer for John Wick Chapter 2.  I’ve been burned so often by good trailers for awful movies that I have an inherent distrust of any movie that looks good but this movie looks GREAT so I guess I can trust it.  The action looks all kinds of crazy awesome and since it is the same director as the first I feel comfortable giving him my heart and devotion.  I’ll be there opening day with a rictus of death spread across my face! 

Then there was also the recent Power Rangers trailer!  I’ve been anticipating this as I’ve so far loved the character designs and general feel of the photos but…sigh…the trailer looked far too much like last year’s failed Fantastic Four movie or (as many have said) like Chronicle. Where’s the fucking color?!  Why is Hollywood so afraid of color and wants every movie to have that dark, drab and dull washed out look?!  If only Luc Besson had directed this.  Still, I find the actors charming and acknowledge this was merely a TEASER and not a full on trailer so I will continue to maintain my anticipation, albeit a bit more reserved now.  Give me color though! And zest!  And pep!  This is fucking Power Rangers, people!!!

Oh slag!  It wasn’t a trailer but there was that recent behind the scenes stuff Zack Snyder posted for Justice League!  That got me all kinds of stupid fanboy excited!  Flash!  Aquaman!  Mera! Cyborg!  Bats!  Supes!  New Commissioner Gordon!  Lex Luthor!  And Wonder Woman (swoon!)!  I’m fucking ready for this movie already and that initial teaser/trailer comic con thing released a few months back which I first bitched a little about now feels pretty sweet whenever I watch it. Though the Wonder Woman movie still remains the flick I’m most excited about. 

I purchased the novel The Girl on the Train yesterday.  I hate being out of the loop on the water cooler book conversation.  I’ll let you ya’ll know if I think it’s a good read or not.  Then I’ll go watch the movie.  Then I’ll probably go home and cry myself to sleep like I do every night.

The Little Star came down twice in as many days.  There were Poppies laid out before me, so many Poppies though they were black and not red in color.  They were forced into my mouth and then covered my face.  There was also Fire and Rain and…I think a Princess somewhere off in the distance. 

I gotta say, I’ve really liked my last few blog posts but this one was pretty much shit.  Sorry everyone.  Still…tonight…oh yes…oh yes…..

the first secret word and then reputation asunder

So what visions of hell are we all designing for ourselves on this night?  Oh, those halcyon days, he said.  And I simply could not agree though it was through no fault of his.  There is no one in charge and there is no order to anything anymore.  There is a wave of shame and an unprecedented acceptance of sin and indulgences all around.  We are all drinking from the same glass.  

I felt pinpricks of heat all over my body once it was over and then I wanted to scratch my skin off.  He did horrible things and it all happened so fast.  The temptation was simply too glorious and his self control nonexistent and then his mouth spoke words whose poison was masked with honey.  I am just a little girl with grey eyes.  Can I still cling to that?  I don’t think so.  I would love to just stay deep in my room and never leave.  It is electric blue and I am begging anyone who would listen to just let me live there.  

Hands trembling, I am covering the canvas with deep swaths of pink.  But now my eyes only see black and I wish so much to drown in that.  Hear that name be called.  I have to cut it off, that is exactly what I need to do.  I need the courage to bring about a decisive end.  And everything will be better off for it.  I am no one’s Apollo.  Burning the belongings.  May he be thrown into the fire.  

Bodies keep betraying and then there is a pleading for forgiveness and then his tears travel down toward his smile and everything starts all over again and I am prisoner and it is my fault and I need to extinguish myself and that is the only thing that makes sense and then it will all be in its proper place.  There is no satisfaction.  Carving the flesh.  A portrait made from exquisite evil and my words fall on uncaring ears.  Very appropriate.  

Let me apologize to all of you right now.  She erupts in laughter and later on she will bring forth the instrument of a very personal brand of destruction.  Is there a true deity anywhere?  This all comes in the majestic female form.  I can’t travel these speeds anymore and I am etching terrible things in the walls and staining the carpet.  Who would say you are a wonderful person?  Please stop winking.  Please help me to stop this, please.  

Beginning at sunrise and he stands naked in the fields and wonders who considers their god to be the sun.  And parents were together with their children and impurity was rampant and a single burgundy rose was crushed between pale fingers and milk spilled out and flowed down to our feet and they are quite suddenly weeping again.  By the time of the turn it was all a matter of a simple flick of the wrist and he was drowning in color and choking on ecstasy.  My skull is to be split open and my back is to be pierced and I will break my teeth from grinding them so hard and I will still be screaming out apologies but nothing will be sufficient because I am something terrible and ugly.  Oh, how our bodies are designed for betrayal and slavery.  

And there is moment of horrifying silence and ideas fill the prism of deceit and they rush to his aid and there is still a knife present.  Blacking out.  Not once but twice and I don’t know where I am and for a moment I can forget who I am and feel bliss and then it comes flooding back and I write the word DEATH over and over again.  

He was searching last night and digging in the dirt and the city only showed him what he wanted to see.  He has spent everything and lost even more and I laugh and trade places and I cannot feel the right side of myself.  Ice is rising deep inside.  Please do not let this be heard.  I am so very scared of this potential and when I look around everything is ugly and contaminated and I wonder what it would be like to be sent away forever.  Don’t be searching anymore.  There is nothing to connect you with this world.  

It’s like an urban game of fiction, stuffing torn pages inside her mouth.  Please help me to cut myself to ribbons and spill my own blood and…this must be removed.  Biting my tongue now.  

Night comes around again and we are all so sorry but it does not make a single bit of difference and from now on it will always be too late.  I have purged nothing.  

It all feels so much more real through the glass and he now he can hardly breathe and it culminates in a lifeless little exclamation and he can only laugh and curse and start it all over again.  Something very soon is going to be awful.  This sad pathetic and useless thing was racing against time and he lost and that is what he does best.  Oh you are horrible and there is absolutely nothing left but counterfeit remains.  Please let it all be taken away.  I cannot go back again, please don’t let me go back again. Only one way really and we both know what that is.  I am so sorry to everyone and you all know who you are.  

You go by two different names and you do not deserve this.  Do you recall that cursed day when it all started and now there is not a single shred of it left and you do not deserve this.  What happened to that streak in your hair he wonders and you do not deserve this.  I am sorry that it had to be hidden away like that because you do not deserve this.  I know less and less about….   If I could take it all back, starting with myself.  Why did you do that?  So sweet and kind.  Can that be the final image?

God help me please, who will I be seeing at the costume ball tonight?  

Need more beef (later stuff mayhaps) and need the close cropped clip!

Mathematics is an interesting word.  I recall watching a severely strung out junkie briefly discuss some crudely scrawled mathematics in a tattered old notebook and I recall with equal or greater clarity my realization that even in his debilitated condition this individual had vastly more intrinsic value than I.  Don’t deceive yourself with thoughts of snowflakes or gold stars. I see now there are still many many records I need to acquire in that P Funk empire.  It is a joyous revelation.  I was cruising around listening to Radiohead’s Kid A yesterday when certain things began to make sense.  Still, as I write this Bong Joon-Ho’s Memories of Murder is playing on the Vizio television set in front of me; amazing film.  I love David Fincher’s Zodiac too and I can see the strong influence Joon-Ho’s flick had on it.  I’m not sure which I like more (though I might say that Memories is a bit more haunting) so I guess it’s good that I live in a miserable world where I don’t have to make that choice.  

If I purchase that book I read about earlier would my name be entered into a database?  I suppose that’s an interesting possibility.  I wonder how many things are earmarked like that?  Does it really matter?  People always caring about their tastes or habits being collated as though they matter, as though anyone cares or as if it will make any meaningful difference in their empty pathetic lives.  What awful things we are.  True to my word I drank excessively to Lyle last night and/or the night before.  I was also treated to the sight of a man – Na Hong-Jin in this case – in complete control of his craft.  It is inspiring to witness that level of expert precision and masterful manipulation of so many moods and disparate elements.  I also take great inspiration from Lodger and in particular from Look Back in Anger.  It is quite interesting that the speaker was an angel. Now I don’t know if I should actually say “in particular.”  I forgot about the mention of the number 23 (thankfully not that godawful Jim Carrey piece of shit) but as it relates to the aforementioned narrative provided by Mr. Hong-Jin.  Or is it two-three?  Either way, there are several critical parallels one could draw if so inclined. 

So I recently finished George Clinton’s memoirs and found to be a thoroughly engaging read which reaffirmed my love of funk and in particular Clinton’s rich P Funk empire.  For the past couple days I’ve been listening chiefly to Funkadelic’s 1976 album Hardcore Jollies which is just totally replete with endlessly throbbing and rewarding deep cuts!  It is searing, sweaty, soulful, oily, grimy funk!  It is the aural equivalent of heating up a steel poker and then jamming it up my ass!  And I like that, homes!  I like that!  Man, what a fuckin’ album!  What a funkin’ album hahaha!  Immediately I sought out how to properly play the bassline in Cosmic Slop which has been one of my favorite P Funk songs since before I even knew the difference between Parliament and Funkadelic (not to mention Bootsy’s Rubber Band, the Brides of Funkenstein, Parlet, the Horny Horns, P Funk All Stars, George Clinton solo and whoever the fuck else I may have missed because I am one slithering idiot)!  I’m such a piss poor bassist though with shit all for strength and dexterity such that the stretch between the A and the F# on the E string is quite a strain, especially with the very particular rhythm in which it’s played.  Of course, I could just play the open A but then I’m not sure if I could really nail that rhythm with that configuration.  Ultimately, I’m just an awful bass player but that won’t stop me from trying!  You can’t fake the funk!  

But anyway, I was looking for a new book to read and had endless choices because we live in a free country full of literature. I decided – almost at random but not quite – to read J.G. Ballard’s 1973 novel Crash (which thankfully has nothing to do with that horribly contrived 2002 flick about racism).  I’ve only read the first sentence so far so I don’t have quite enough yet to form an opinion but maybe one day.  After I finish the book I thinks I’ll watch David Cronenberg’s 1996 film adaptation of the same name (which also thankfully has nothing to do with that horribly contrived 2002 flick about racism).  Then afterward I think I’ll eat a piece of good ol’ fashioned banana cream pie with a mug of piping hot black coffee.  

The Queen of the Fish People (should their name be capitalized in polite conversation?) was quite beautiful; I can’t deny it.  I would happily be her slave.  Bodies do often bear traces of carnal violence, I can’t deny it.  

Damn it!  I was hoping so much to avoid Peter Berg’s next movie Patriots Day but this is now impossible as I’ve just learned (a few days late because I’m an ignorant degenerate) that Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross are doing the score for the flick which means I must watch this movie at least 9 times to fully appreciate how the music plays within the proper context of the film before purchasing the compact disc and listening to it 12 times a day everyday for at least 1.5 years.  Please understand: my initial desire to avoid this has nothing to do with the material or actors and everything to do with director Peter Berg whose films I detest!  Still, I will say Berg definitely has his own style so I can’t slag the guy.  His art is just not to my taste.  I’m sure he couldn’t give a tin shit because he’s a successful man making art and I’m a worthless piece of garbage that’s never done a single worthwhile thing in his miserable empty life.  I need to buy a movie with Eva Garbo.  And Ane Berthe Lepe.  And Lina Santos!  

At some point tonight (by that I mean last night) I put on The Empire Strikes Back and felt at home again though I’m not really sure what that means.  I am a deeply depressed individual.  I think.  I am distraught over how little anything or anyone means.  I referred to someone as a thing today by accident.  I listened to a George Clinton album in my car while driving around at night and that made me feel good.   I miss some people that I never really knew.  I don’t really know why I do anything.  

I just ate a big lunch and I ain’t feelin’ so hot right now.  Who really gives a flying fuck though, am I right?!  Also, I really love the eye bulging in a couple scenes from the first Mad Max but that really has nothing to do with anything.  I truly do not matter.  Wow, I am such a joke.  

Words cannot adequately describe my love for La Nave de Los Monstruos.  I think I’ll go….

Oh, and October 11 is nearly upon us….

not what i heard, wide eyed, let's eat pizza, city beat, you have success after

I was jazzed as all get out yesterday when I went to the grocery store and saw that Count Chocula was back in stock!  Just one of the many reasons why October is THE month.  I promptly purchased 49 boxes and 33 gallons of Darigold whole milk.  

These phantom clowns are becoming more prevalent.  I don’t think I can stop what is going to happen.  These occurrences are not really surprising.  I suspect – as I have always – that we ourselves are manifesting a very particular type of evil, born from our inherent sinful nature and nurtured through our growing hate, corruption and insatiable desires.  A dear friend recently told me the dignity of our race is slowly decaying.  Perhaps we have simply run our course.  I myself woke up several times last night in a panicked state, reaching for old books and clutching at pendants, clinging to symbols.  Is there anything true in our hearts?  I’m not sure who or what was also present in the room with me but these encroaching forms are growing much stronger.  Are false idols participating in our downfall?  Is there no sin we have not embraced?  Are these born of my own evil?  Or is someone else – maybe several – also participating, perhaps even more actively than we suspect?  

You know, Joe’s Garage has some utterly fantastic music and songwriting but I would love a version without all the concepty spoken word parts and interludes.  Or if they had just made those separate tracks instead of incorporating them directly into the songs.  Damnit, it would be so easy!  Still, I can’t fault the ambition.  By the same (is it?  I’m not sure it is) token I’d forgotten how much I love the song Munchies for Your Love by Bootsy Collins.  I listened to it last night on the way to and from the cinema.  What a great tune; real thick, groovy and evocative.  Great album too I should add.  I can still recall where I purchased it, what I purchased alongside it and where and when I first listened to it.  What an artist!  Incidentally, the feature film I viewed was Hell or High Water.  Real sweaty Texas noir!  I highly recommend it.  

I’m not saying I like Inferno more than Suspiria.  But then again I’m not not saying it.  Maybe I enjoy them both equally though in (slightly) different ways.  Is that allowed?  Maybe it isn’t as slight as I think.  Maybe I should just say “in different ways.”  It is certainly a rich piece of art.  Italian horror, I heart it.  On a semi-almost-completely-unrelated note I was watching the movie Al Compas del Rock and Roll (from the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema) last night and I very nearly suffered a cardiac event.  Seams.  I sometimes wonder what my world would be like if everything were in black and white and those are some of the most blissful moments of my catastrophically failed life.  Santa Sangre is also something I have been unable to wash off my brain but it is definitely much more a piece with the former rather than the latter.  She said no compute.  Don’t not compute.  I never realized the connection until now, how wonderful.  A couple of the absolutes greats, one already gone but never forgotten.  Thank You that I could see both of them.  And all of us still here simply going mad.  

There is more Yamila out there, much more.  I can feel it.  It’s the only thing that gets me up in the morning.  My life’s mission is far from complete.  I almost bought the book Chariot of the Gods last night but I just couldn’t pull the trigger on that one.  I also thought about buying a book about baseball (baseball is my life) and a book or horror short stories.  I think I’ll buy one or all of these very soon though so don’t worry.     

Memories come back to me in an awesome wave: I walk into a room and immediately look over at the gloriously large dry erase board and the see the word “EARTHFUCK” written in capital letters.  I will never learn the meaning of this word or why someone felt the need to emblazon it upon the board but I know in that very moment it is a something which will stay with me to the end of my days.  I have a slim notepad clasped in my greedy hand and a quivering joyless grin on my face.  I do believe I was not as well shaven as I like on that particular day.  The clickity-clack of callused fingertips on keyboards was running rampant, as was the dire sound of shite modern rock.  The discussion becomes heated: inappropriate remarks, color commentary, a plethora of ignorant statements.  At one point I call a woman named Vicky a fool to which she replies, “I’m the fool?!  You’re the one doing fucking lunges!”  She’s right: during the tense discussion I did run through a few sets of lunges, it’s important to stay limber even in the worst of times.  I give her retort a hearty chuckle and the situation diffuses itself shortly thereafter.  My attention then turns to another woman, one whose name I still cannot bring myself to say aloud or even write (incidentally, the last time I attempted communication with her was roughly 1.5 years ago when I texted her a picture of a modern art piece by Damien Hirst though she did not respond.  It’s understandable, Hirst is one of one of the divisive artists of the modern era) but she is the real reason I’d braved the frigid elements that day and made the long icy sojourn to that basement level room.  My God, more than anything about that excursion I remember with joyous clarity that she was wearing dark patterned hosiery with black high heels.  She crosses her legs and absentmindedly lets a shoe dangle of the tip of her right foot, exposing her sole.  Does she know?  Does she know that I want her to use my face as her personal footrest after a long hard sweaty work day and tell me how fucking pathetic I am (and still am), what a fucking loser I am (and still am), how I long for those pantyhose encased soles to crush my face and block off my air supply?  I think she knows.  Her smile is tender, her blue eyes kind.  She goes to work on what I present her with and, as always, her work is divine.  You helped to form me.  I will not forget.  You know, recently I also found myself wishing to have a choker forcibly placed around my neck with a short chain attached to it which connects to leather restraints binding my wrists.  I always imagined the aforementioned (in yesterday’s post) Jackal with the shaved head perpetrating this and more.  I wonder if these thoughts are in anyway related to those memories? 

The first actor to play a live action Lex Luthor was also the first actor to play a live action Commissioner Gordon.  That is a hell of a legacy and striking a great balance between fictional good and evil.  Lyle, I doff my hat to you and tonight I will drink excessively to you. 

I hope they have a copy of The Wailing.  

The jackal with the shaved head, very enticing (and i also love funk music and...)

Lemon Crush, that was a very apt description from way way back in the day of the formative years of my listening self.  A very rich piece of chocolate.  Some way say absurdly rich and thick.  But I would say it is very tasty.  I am still unable to totally identify all the different elements that are taking place.  How strange that this element keep recurring in my largely miserable and entirely pointless existence.  I think I’m going to the cinema tonight where I will watch Hell or High Water; Texas noir as the kids like to say.  I need to purchase more feature films with Edwige Fenech.  I already have a few but I desperately need more.  I already picked them out on Amazon.  Soon…very soon.  Don’t Torture a Duckling, what a fucking masterpiece.  Edwige had nothing to do with that one but my love remains in tact.  How pure is the funk of  Bootsy Collins?  Very pure.  Shame on me that I do not have every last crumb. Still, what great memories from my college years.  The name is…and then a very particular brand of Mexican woman love and then so many different signs o’ the times we were/are living in.  I could never take the place of him. Every morning I make sure to drink a large mug of black coffee with a big ol’ plate of starfish.  Great breakfast.  It’s only been these recent days that I’m able to listen to you once more.  I missed it so much.  Allen Gant Sr, I owe you so much in life, more than I can ever express.  Please, if you are somehow able to read these words just know that you have my eternal gratitude.  I was having a psychic vision of a serial murder about to take while I was also drinking a glass of room temperature tap water.  The vision was strong and I spit up the water.  The red curtains were quite interesting.  I know I brought him up one of the last times but John Frusciante has an album called Curtains which is quite good.  I bought it at Best Buy many years ago and it still receives regular attention.  I often wish no one would talk to me.  George Clinton’s memoirs have been a fascinating and restorative read.  I will likely finish the book tomorrow.  Funk is wonderful.  Where would I be without that glorious music?  In unrelated news Magic Moon and Little Star were holding me hostage this morning, right at their at that shimmer ass-crack of dawn!  Please ignore that childish bit of profanity which is very much in direct opposition to the all encompassing ever captivating glories also mentioned in that very same sentence.  I am feeling as light now as I was then where it seemed there something of a boa constrictor wrappted tightly around my neck and all that shimmer moon dust was covering me and coursing through the wet, juicy inner corridors of my mind.  Hello spacegirl.  I too am goodbye to love in the same breathe.  I am controlled by perverse desires.  Aren’t we all?  This is an imaginary story. Aren’t they all?  I cannot stop thinking that when I looked directly into his eyes death was swimming throughout his entire body, making itself at home.  He knew very well but I was completely oblivious.  Again, these strange and sometimes terrifying symbols continue to pop up wherever I go.  He held his hands high as the Grim Reaper drew him close though.  Be careful about dropping antacids into heavy machinery because you never know when it might spark the birth of a possessed entity.  I want to warn everyone right now to be very careful of witchcraft.  I saw everything taking place through the red lights and heard the screams from down the hall but I was too scared to do anything and I just hid underneath my bed and covered my ears and cried.  That woman’s chest was ripped open and she was stabbed in the heart with a piece of broken glass and her body was hanged where everyone could see it.  if you start peeling back the paint or wallpaper in your home you might not like what you find underneath.  I ate a sandwich recently and though it satiated my hunger I did not find the taste to be particularly satisfying.  I’ve had worse I suppose (remember that time I dropped my hot dog at the petting zoo?).  I watched Braveheart last night after not having seen it in decades.  It made me wish I could see it on the big screen to fully appreciate the sprawl and splendor of director Mel Gibson’s vision.  It also reminded me how many directors and flicks since – from Ridley Scott’s Gladiator to Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies – have taken from it without being able to match it.  Still, I would still say Mel’s best film as a director is The Passion of the Christ.  That’s just my worthless opinion.  I’m not sure I want diamonds in my eyes.  we discussed allegations of physical and emotional abuse.  What is a telephone bill exactly?  I think I’m going to take my imaginary dog Rufus for a 4-mile walk and then eat a chicken Caesar salad (with a dollop of Ranch dressing). I love when people believe they are important.  I also love when people believe their opinions matter. I’m a sharp guy who can’t see the forest for the trees.  Haha, doom is written all over my ugly face, hahaha.  It is not difficult at all to figure out who and/or what is actually in control here.  I think I’ll listen to Zappa or Collins when I go driving around.  Then I’ll chop up some fish and eggs.  Then I’ll do a little light reading.  That was a fascinating little revelation about Wonder Woman the other day though fans have known that for years.  Sometimes I’ll videos of teary eyed folks describing alien abduction experiences but I’ll usually grow a little too scared and have to stop.  I picked up a memoir about alcoholism a while back and wonder if that is what I’ll read next or if I’ll go for another Steve King novel.  There’s some grimoires waiting right around the corner though.  I’ve lost it, that’s for damn sure.  But I think I am well into the process of recovery.  I may again know….  Doble Sentido.  Good grief.  Shiny to the end.  It would be so perfect after a show.  Please, I just want to be belittled.  He said GARF when the arrow went through his head; I always liked that.  i'm betting that Suspiria remake is going to be awful, just awful.  Anyone for tennis?! 

Need to see more Gerhard (shocking monkeys too!)!

So I did go out and purchase Bon Iver’s new album 22, A Million.  This is actually the first Bon Iver album in my collection.  I gotta say when I put it on it was like music to my ears.  That’s because it is music.  But I did and do find it to be a very compelling piece of work.  It encourages many returns, I wanna swim in it for a while, really get to know it.  It’s a cold album, detached, just how I love. I always forget how strong an album is Let’s Take it to the Stage by Funkadelic, great slab of sweaty funk and soul and damn but that last song really trips me out sometimes though not quite as much as the last song off Pearl Jam’s 1995 album Vitalogy.  Wow, Vitalogy, what a great piece of work!  Summer of Sam is on the television while I write all this crap.  One of my favorite films ever.  Spike Lee is such an inspiring artist.  One of the greats.  I watched a little bit of baseball at some point today.  Athletics game.  Baseball is my life.  I just learned that I’ve been pronouncing Bon Iver’s name wrong this entire time, likely due to the face that I’m a filthy degenerate.  I heard a recent review which made a comparison of their most recent album to Peter Gabriel’s discography but I gotta say I don’t hear it.  Not yet anyway.  And I’m a huge Gabriel fan!  I love self-titled and melt and Security and So and Us and the score to The Last Temptation of Christ is gorgeous!  Fucking gorgeous says I!  This new Bon Iver does not sound like any of that stuff to my ears but maybe my musical palette just isn’t refined enough to identify this or perhaps it is more in the lyrics (which I have not yet really investigated having only had the album for less than a day). I will say I did not notice until after the purchase the rampant occult and Masonic symbols adorning the cover and lyrics book (and the first music vid from what I hear).  That definitely gives me some pause!  Not really sure what to think.  Yet.  Those old Peter Gabriel albums though, man what great tunes.  Modern love can be a strain (incidentally, David Bowie also has a song called Modern Love which I prefer to the Gabriel song though Gabriel’s tune is also great, stormy and atmospheric).  Could Last Temptation be Scorsese’s finest work?  Probably not THE finest but I would rank it up there. Or maybe it would be THE finest!  What a film!  It’s interesting how many non-Catholics slam Catholicism yet endorse Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ which is a very Catholic vision.  Many people love wallowing in their own filthy ignorance.  That is no insult toward Mel or his film however which I find to be a tremendous piece of art.  I’m not Catholic either though I take no umbrage with Catholicism.  

The washing machine is haunted!  It’s hard to tell who’s who through the collective pale veil of all these white women!  October is here at last and that can only mean marathons of the most horrific variety.  I had oatmeal and black coffee for breakfast, make no mistake.  Oatmeal has the best of my love.  

Pleasures of the flesh.  Temptations run rampant all around us.  I suspect absolutely no one is capable of being entirely faithful.  Am I wrong?  Is it luck?  My socks sometimes match my shoes.  There’s a serial killer on the loose, running rampant through the streets and all you can fucking think about is getting your rocks off!  We’re all standing around on metaphysical street corners, waiting to take our pick.  Good grief, modern rock is shit.  

I keep waiting for that moment where I am naked and on my hands and knees, utterly confused with palpable terror setting in very soon.  I look up and then around and the horrors begin to break down what little remains of my mind.  Please don’t touch me oh God please don’t touch me I can’t get out of this.  What are we gonna play?  I make a fist and then I don’t have the strength to even do that.  I am opened up.  A moment late I’m on a city bus and everyone looks normal and ugly and then in the next second everyone looks otherworldly and terrifying and I start to laugh.  We are all in for one great big surprise and I don’t think anyone is going to like what’s in store for us.  

The last song I listened to before I fell asleep last night was The Electrician by The Walker Brothers.  That one speaks to me on a deeply personal level.  I’ll probably smear butter all over my body at some point before getting into a fight with a group of heavily armored men.  When that happens I hope someone will be blasting The Eletrician somewhere in the background.  It’s all about control you see.  Relationships and love make people stupid.  So does religion in many ways.  We are all weak minded simpering idiots.  I’ve been dipping my toe into the waters of Frank Zappa lately.  Tis exciting to get into a new (albeit old) artist, especially one with such a massive, confusing and unwieldy discography! 

Why do we have to live in so much pain?  I think I’ll fashion a pair of wings out of some construction paper and then leap from the roof of my posh flat!  I like to imagine the wings catastrophically failing and myself plummeting to the earth where I collide with a hotdog stand with the impact being so great that my body is rendered indistinguishable from the hot dog matter.  Then I like to imagine a few stray dogs coming over and gingerly licking the red pavement and nibbling at my splattered flesh, guts and brain while a few nearby sensitive old ladies kneel over and toss their cookies.  Before I do all that though I’ll probably drink a glass of tea (Earl Grey, hot).  Nothing closer to heart than a good cup of British char.  I take it dark, no sugars. 

Let’s all ruminate on life’s inherent emptiness for a while, eh?  

gots to eat more powder, maybe then, and a big yellow book thing to study or whatever

I was listening to the song One Tree Hill by U2 (a personal fave of mine, both the song and the band) when it really solidified in my brain: I cannot truly count on anyone.  Everyone lets me down and I imagine that I let everyone down as well.  I was also listening to the album Una Pequena Parte Del Mundo by Amaral and a few Funkadelic albums that same day and this only helped me to grow more certain in this conclusion.  It is a shame that people are so gosh darn unreliable.  What flawed and ugly things we are.  How disgusting, our sexual desires and our bleeding hearts.  Upon returning home I probably watched a Dario Argento movie and drank a bottle of wine, maybe I ate a bowl of cereal though if I did I’m sure I ate it fast so as to maintain maximum crunchiness.  The next morning I likely had highly explosive diarrhea due to that rich combination of alcohol and milk.  Small pleasures, eh?  I’m still thinking about that book Revival that I mentioned in my last blog post.  What a fantastic read.  Make no mistake though: despite the fact that I watched an Argento flick, Lucio Fulci is still my favorite of those great, magnificent stylish Giallo directors and I only grow ever more certain of that with each miserable passing year of my pathetic excuse for a life.  Still, Argento does have a way with the leather gloves, fuck they always look so great through his lens.  I’m not sure if I’m going to read the book Chariot of the Gods but I think there is a distinct possibility.  I wonder if I could find a vintage copy?!  Perhaps if I start hunting through old bookstores.  Perhaps if I just build a cabin out in the woods and live off the land?!  Maybe then I’d be able to get over my deeply unhealthy obsession with Italian female bodybuilder Mavi Gioia?!  But she’s so pretty my inner voices scream at me!!!  She’s so pretty!!!  She is though.  I would never deny it.  She makes me weep.  Tears of joy.  Man, I love Pedro Bell’s artwork and it is a supremely important and indelible part of that mythology.  Man, would I pick Eddie Hazel as my favorite guitarist if someone was holding a loaded standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun to my head and threatening to blow my brains out lest I make and vocally announce my choice?  I’m not sure but it’s definitely possible.  Hazel is a clear influence on John Frusciante though I would never even think of picking Frusciante as an answer to that question though I do greatly love (sometimes even adore) his many solo albums.  PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone might be favorite of those though I also love The Will to Death and Shadows Collide with People.  I can hear my mother call.  Actually, that was a lie.  I can’t hear anyone call right now.  That new Bon Iver album is kind of intriguing.  I heard that other new song by Metallica that just came out, Moth to a Flame or something like that.  I’m starting to feel a little bored by them.  Bored is such a piss weak criticism.  Thank You for letting me discover Scott Walker.  I crave detachment.  I’ll probably go blast Low or Lodger or Tilt or something and then watch a David Lynch movie.  Probably Lost Highway but maybe Eraserhead and I also have Inland Empire ready to go at a moment’s notice.  Boy, I’m a stupid and close minded individual.

I put some ice in my coffee.  A few years back Robert Crumb released an illustrated version of the book of Genesis.  It is a beautiful of piece of work.  I love Crumb’s art style.  Genesis continues to be one of the difficult books of the Bible to get through for me.  I recently read there are some who interpret a vision from the book of Ezekiel as something akin to a UFO sighting.  I shall investigate to see what popular opinion is on this.  Interesting.  What is dangerous?    

Deep Red is great.  I won’t deny that.  Though I think I may even prefer The Bird With the Crystal Plumage.  And Suspiria of course.  But those leather gloves.  Wow.  

Greg Rucka is one of my favorite comics writers ever (and I guess one of my favorite writers ever then, hmmm).  Certainly, it bears much more thought and consideration as to whether there needs to be a distinction.  I am looking so forward to reading his new storyarc on Wonder Woman as his run on that character from a decade or so ago is one of the all-time great comics runs in my estimation.  

Magic Moon went inside my mouth and I did nothing to prevent it.  Quite the contrary.  I guess a birthday was in order though and there was a band all wearing matching jackets and candles and cake and the denier was high and shiny.  Magic Moon was strangling me and there were tears heading down my face though I think I was smiling.  I’m not sure what joy existed behind it though.  

All these politics are twisting inside of us like bad oysters. What does that even mean? I’ve always said I think the majority of people should not vote because the majority of us are too stupid to really understand the choice we make.  Myself included of course.  I don’t know that I’ve talked to anyone this year who has a truly well informed opinion about the upcoming election or its candidates.  Hahaha, what am I saying?  I actually do know, of course I know: I have not.  

I think I’ll throw on my neon pink thong and go roller-skating for a little while, maybe grab a slice downtown afterward.  Blackout by Britney Spears is another great album like those I mentioned earlier which really captures that great sense of detachment and truly speaks to the enduring battle between man and machine.  It’s so cold.  Icy.  I wonder if the dogs are still digging up darkness at this hour?    

Man, I gotta catch up!  There’s just too much funk out there!  In good unrelated news I’ve been able to get my breathing under control every time those used pairs of hosiery are wrapped around my head.  It was getting scary there for a while. But sexy scary!  That’s my favorite kind of scary.  Actually my favorite kind is that really awful middle of the night, can’t sleep, absolutely terrified sick feeling in the pit of your stomach kind of scary.  But beggars can’t be choosers!  They can be losers though fortunately and that’s why I am both a beggar and a loser.  

For years now I’ve thought of myself chiefly as a surrogate father figure but to whom exactly I could not say.