held close while it is siphoned out (so oddly loving, and what language?)

I very recently finished Jack Ketchum’s excellent novel Off Season.  My sweaty fingers were turning the yellowed brittle pages so rapidly I nearly bled out from the plentiful papercuts!  What a book!  Ketchum has ketched my imagination and put a spell on me!  Upon completion I immediately hitchhiked over to Barnes & Noble Booksellers to order 19 more of his books which should arrive by the end of business Tuesday.  Standard unspoken rules of hitchhiking mandated that I pay the generous driver with gas, grass or ass so I dutifully dropped my rent trousers and allowed my sweet puckery hindquarters to be mercilessly pummeled as a means of reciprocity.  No joke though folks: Ketchum’s book was highly inspiring and exactly the kind of pulp literary horror that gets my blood pumping something fierce!

The other day I listened to the album L.A. Woman by the Doors (or simply Doors as the cover sleeve states) and concluded it to be my 3^rd favorite Doors disc.  Though therein lies the rub.  Because on its day I think it could edge past Strange Days but only on its day.  Additionally, on The Soft Parade’s day I think The Soft Parade could edge past L.A. Woman (but likely never past Strange Days) so what does that mean exactly?!  Regardless, L.A. Woman is a grimy, gritty, greasy, sweaty, cigarette and especially hard liquor stained bluesy corker of an album. No, not bluesy, BLOOZEY!  Yeah, that’s more like it.  It may not be as greasy as some Tom Waits or Captain Beefheart records but it is plenty oily, make no mistake.  Man, I just fucking love that album.  I listened to it while driving and rarely thought about blowing my brains out.  I love those deep cuts.  Morrison’s voice is in fine worn out ragged form and the band (with invaluable assistance from bassist Jerry Scheff) sounds tight as a rat bastard! 

I paid her a pretty penny and as part of the arrangement we made she spoke with a Brooklyn accent during our time together.  Her hair was black.  Sno-cones.  The tips always reminded me of Sno-cones but I tell ya that I didn’t really miss em.  When my airways were right and properly constricted and with the right amount of taunts applied I tell ya that I was doing just fine without em.  I must again give hearty thanks to Allen Gant.  I tell ya, Mr. Gant, if we meet in the next life the first 457-thousand rounds are on me! 

I think I’ll read The Naked Lunch now!  Look at me!  Look at how well-read and cultured and sophisticated I am!  I know more about art in any of its forms than anyone I know and that’s because I’m the best and everyone else is a close minded, simpering, needy, mouth-breathing loser!  Haha, I’m so great and all you bottom feeding lowlifes just go on with your pathetic ignorant lives blind to the truths around us!  Stop pretending like all these superficial connections actually mean something!  Haha, oh how I love being me!   

Once I read the book I will promptly order Criterion’s blu ray copy of David Cronenberg’s film adaptation.  I actually saw this flick many moons ago though I don’t recall too much beyond some rather striking and bizarre imagery as well as the fact that I understood very little of it.  I’ve been rounding up as many Cronenberg flicks as possible on blu ray and next week I shall add to this with the long awaited blu ray release of his 1988 film Dead Ringers which is probably my favorite movie from this director.  Good ol’ Jeremy Irons.  He might be my favorite Alfred.  My copy of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita arrived via airmail yesterday and the transfer looks stupendous!  “Via Airmail” was the name of a paper plane designed by a girl I knew in 5^th grade. 

I need to buy both of Martika’s albums.  I told someone the other night that I like animals more than people, further clarifying that I largely hate people.  They were chagrined by my opinion.  But I spoke the truth.  That’s gotta count for something right?  Nah.  The truth ain’t squat! 

Those able to cannily read through the proverbial cracks have likely noted that in recent weeks I have slowly but surely been in a phase of rediscovery and reconnection with my undying love for his music (and now his musical legacy I suppose I should add).  Hold me.  All this unreleased music.  A vault.  I am in love.  I must say thank you for all these gifts.  Everything is renewed.  Make it through the storm.  Now I must begin the long and joyous process, just like in the beginning.  Where did all these come from?  What were their intended homes?  You have saved me so many times.  Alone in my room I listened to you all night.  Lying on a cheap bed in a strange town.  Lady cab driver.  This is what it is all about. 

The other night there were three David Bowie songs which reflected quite well how I was feeling: Loving the Alien from 1984’s Tonight, I’m Afraid of Americans from 1997’s Earthling and Fall Dog Bombs the Moon from 2003’s Reality.  I think Fantastic Voyage from 1979’s Lodger would also have fit.  And maybe the 1971 single Holy Holy!  I have nothing more to say on the subject than that. 

I watched the movie Arrival last night at the cinema with a predominantly older and respectful crowd.  I’ve been telling my contemporaries that it was so good that if I’d had a gun I would have blown my brains out right there in the middle of the theatre as the closing credits rolled.  Director Denis Villeneuve is 6 for 6 for yours falsely!  What a dude!  And Amy Adams!  She is slowly cementing herself as an actress for the ages!  When the eventual biopic of my life is made I hope she plays me!  Though I do actually hate biopics!  And she has another movie coming next month called Nocturnal Animals which also looks great!  What a woman!  Be careful not to confuse Arrival with David Twohy’s 1996 movie The Arrival starring Charlie Sheen.  It can be easy to do this since both movies deal with an alien invasion.  In some ways Twohy is as consistent as Villeneuve though his films are decidedly more in the schlock category (though loving schlock).  I’m waiting on needles and pins for the next Riddick movie. 

I was playing a rousing game of backgammon the other day with a giant talking pelican when the world inadvertently exploded.  Now, I don’t recognize a damn thing.  This world is full of unrealistic cheddar mongers. 

They call me ugly because I do not have the capacity to love everything.  Or maybe anything.  Sometimes I am not sure.  I think I probably am ugly. 

I guess there is a lovely trilogy of death we are all graciously privy too.  Let’s ignore it though.  We are the willfully ignorant.  We are a disease.  My word, humanity is so stupid and ugly.  Talking with others is painful.

He saw the future and it was murder.