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….
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