How can I possibly write about something so
inscrutable?
3 was my favorite I think. If someone would put a gun to my head I would definitely say 3 was my favorite. I was recently in the home of a beloved friend and I playfully put a gun to my head. A big black gun. It actually belonged to someone other than my friend though it was there in a nice box for safe keeping. It was an unusual sensation. We discussed what a poor day for him it’d be if I’d actually gone through with it or if an accident had taken place. Likely, there would have been a long moment of stark shock mingled with the toxic flowing silence immediately following the big bang (not the hypothetical creation of the universe). Then there would be the necessary phone call(s) along with plentiful and uncomfortable explanation to uniforms and folks in the inner circle. It would certainly necessitate alternate sleeping arrangements for several nights and perhaps a total upheaval of a freshly painted interior (I was present for only a very small part of that though we did joyously make time for black coffee and looking at some beautiful women wearing fishnet hosiery, one of several fatal weaknesses for yours falsely. But am I talking about of the coffee or the fishnet hosiery or somehow radically both?).
But yes, 3 was definitely it. I came to that conclusion after talking to an electric tree which had a flesh growth on top. Don’t go all Freudian on me, please! Sometimes a glass box is just a glass box! I love the expansiveness of a freeway passing through a scorching desert. And where the hell was I? Was I out in space or something? This is precisely what makes everything so great and necessary and proves once and for all what a worthless individual I am. I was following a woman with no eyes to the very top. The cover story was loosey goosey. That man disappeared in a puff of smoke and southern fried screams some twenty-six odd years ago. Who killed her? She looked damn fine! And a bit like someone I knew but I could not place it. Thank You so much for this!
There was a sensation of a large mound of guacamole being forcefully inserted into my mouth whilst I screamed in primal fear and mortal agony.
I guess those were the events as they unfolded. There was the possibility of a sweet betrayal. If there existed the possibility of a white collared shirt with long sleeves – a glorious return of such – then this betrayal would be much more guaranteed. Traitor. Treachery. It’s okay. I’ve dealt with industrial saboteurs before. Oh, if only. You should have warned me! I nearly watched that movie about noodles the other day. It seemed richly appropriate. There was a real tactile desire there. This was created with a very tactile approach. Close proximity. Yellow. Cornflower. Yellow and black. Durcal. Not quite Durcal but you get the idea, don’t you? It all comes down to secret codes. There was a whole history created in that moment. A history which has never and will never happen except all at once and for always. There were drinks and dancing and laughing and long lovely nights where the morning remained light years away. And then she was in his arms while the pigs were kept at bay and then he was resting his dark sleek head against her shoulder.
I am looking forward to Shakira’s new album later this week. I’m still constantly listening to Sofia Rei’s De Tierra y Oro album. That album came at the perfect time and calms my restless and worthless spirit. And damn! Jorge Roeder’s bass playing on that release is some of the best and most sumptuous my waxy earholes have been blessed to hear! And the production by those two really lets that gorgeous upright bass sound breathe as it should. If only I lived in a purple tinged apartment with a purple ocean outside and where every day and every moment was nighttime! I think I need to listen to more Frank Zappa.
When I saw my own shadow was evil born? Please don’t let this intense feeling of inspiration be taken away! I am so very unworthy.
3 was my favorite I think. If someone would put a gun to my head I would definitely say 3 was my favorite. I was recently in the home of a beloved friend and I playfully put a gun to my head. A big black gun. It actually belonged to someone other than my friend though it was there in a nice box for safe keeping. It was an unusual sensation. We discussed what a poor day for him it’d be if I’d actually gone through with it or if an accident had taken place. Likely, there would have been a long moment of stark shock mingled with the toxic flowing silence immediately following the big bang (not the hypothetical creation of the universe). Then there would be the necessary phone call(s) along with plentiful and uncomfortable explanation to uniforms and folks in the inner circle. It would certainly necessitate alternate sleeping arrangements for several nights and perhaps a total upheaval of a freshly painted interior (I was present for only a very small part of that though we did joyously make time for black coffee and looking at some beautiful women wearing fishnet hosiery, one of several fatal weaknesses for yours falsely. But am I talking about of the coffee or the fishnet hosiery or somehow radically both?).
But yes, 3 was definitely it. I came to that conclusion after talking to an electric tree which had a flesh growth on top. Don’t go all Freudian on me, please! Sometimes a glass box is just a glass box! I love the expansiveness of a freeway passing through a scorching desert. And where the hell was I? Was I out in space or something? This is precisely what makes everything so great and necessary and proves once and for all what a worthless individual I am. I was following a woman with no eyes to the very top. The cover story was loosey goosey. That man disappeared in a puff of smoke and southern fried screams some twenty-six odd years ago. Who killed her? She looked damn fine! And a bit like someone I knew but I could not place it. Thank You so much for this!
There was a sensation of a large mound of guacamole being forcefully inserted into my mouth whilst I screamed in primal fear and mortal agony.
I guess those were the events as they unfolded. There was the possibility of a sweet betrayal. If there existed the possibility of a white collared shirt with long sleeves – a glorious return of such – then this betrayal would be much more guaranteed. Traitor. Treachery. It’s okay. I’ve dealt with industrial saboteurs before. Oh, if only. You should have warned me! I nearly watched that movie about noodles the other day. It seemed richly appropriate. There was a real tactile desire there. This was created with a very tactile approach. Close proximity. Yellow. Cornflower. Yellow and black. Durcal. Not quite Durcal but you get the idea, don’t you? It all comes down to secret codes. There was a whole history created in that moment. A history which has never and will never happen except all at once and for always. There were drinks and dancing and laughing and long lovely nights where the morning remained light years away. And then she was in his arms while the pigs were kept at bay and then he was resting his dark sleek head against her shoulder.
I am looking forward to Shakira’s new album later this week. I’m still constantly listening to Sofia Rei’s De Tierra y Oro album. That album came at the perfect time and calms my restless and worthless spirit. And damn! Jorge Roeder’s bass playing on that release is some of the best and most sumptuous my waxy earholes have been blessed to hear! And the production by those two really lets that gorgeous upright bass sound breathe as it should. If only I lived in a purple tinged apartment with a purple ocean outside and where every day and every moment was nighttime! I think I need to listen to more Frank Zappa.
When I saw my own shadow was evil born? Please don’t let this intense feeling of inspiration be taken away! I am so very unworthy.
I think
it looks rather silly when a guitarist or bassist wears a trench coat on stage
while playing. That’s just my opinion,
folks! Please don’t crucify me just for
having an opinion. We should all hit the
treadmill once in a while! Anyone for
tennis?! Gotta love Looney Tunes!
I need to buy and voraciously read that trilogy penned by Henry Miller. How could I have been so ignorant, filthy and degenerate?! All I’ve ever read by him is Tropic of Cancer! Depressingly predictable, am I right? Yes, I am not very well read. I am in blunt terms a fucking idiot! But maybe there is still time to turn it all around. Maybe there’s still time to save me from myself and get my head on straight!
Is sex always the gateway to evil? Is that moment in the blue when we discovered the empire inside of us comparable to that gold-panning man climbing up through the window and entering surreptitiously? There was pleasure at first. And then suspicions and then questions. And finally, there was screaming. I did something horrifying yesterday but I know it was actually tomorrow.
I saw that very same red lamp at a dingy strip club once. I left as she was about to go on stage. I’m not talking about the lamp.
I like Martin Scorsese’s remake of Cape Fear quite a lot. Robert De Niro and Juliette Lewis give electrifying performances! What a colorful film. Literally. Ol’ Marty’s direction and the cinematography is so super ultra-flashy almost to the point of inducing a minor headache! But I liked that aspect. The whole thing was the right amount of over the top. I’m just not a very good writer.
The Twin Peaks premiere was amaze-balls as the youngsters like to say. I was up til all mad-monkey hours of the morning. Four hours I lived there. Tears of joy. Pure. Love. It felt very much like the serialized television equivalent of a latter day Scott Walker song! You know, something from Tilt or The Drift or Bish Bosch. That is most assuredly a very good thing.
“What the hell?” What a line!
Perfectly delivered.
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