thubea

There was a woman singing in Greek and I began to wonder if this was the end of my life.  I could not recall a time when I did not want to die.  I need to make it a double feature tonight.  It’s worth a try, right?  It’s worth a goddamn try as Myer would say.  My stay at the hotel was unceremoniously interrupted last night, my fault really for being so deplorable.  Johns was talking to me about the brand of Peach nectar he was trying out early in the mornings but I wasn’t paying him much attention.  It was either the previous night or night before that in which I’d become inebriated down at Vanessa’s Spittoon and briefly befriended a man telling me all manner of things about the Congene virus and the covert distribution which occurred in inner cities during the 1970’s and 1980’s strange men who wore green suits and carried outdated newspapers.  Even then during those precarious moments my attention was dominated by several vedettes. 

Rich’s Gasoline sells the best Steno notepads and detailed instructions were written by the steadiest of hands long ago.  Thoughts of suicide don’t frighten me, of course.  I wonder if I should have gone to the electrical company, maybe then someone would have reached out a scaly hand and offered me a chance to purchase real prime real estate.  Maybe I should have taken Richards up on that offer when I was being given the grand tour of storage space and allowed all access to the great and grate annals of waste and regret.  Where has all the pulchritude gone? 

I wrote that word on a card once and then it disappeared.  Have you seen this insect?  I wrote that on a flyer and stapled them all over lampposts and people came running from nine different major metropolitan areas, all rambling about their grandchildren and sports blazers and I could only roll my eyes and say “just you wait until I glue uncooked macaroni onto some particle board and use that to surf around the collective and ever distilling lake of reproductive fluids our great forefathers and foremothers left behind when they bought the proverbial barn house.”  Jenni the Vedette gave a public discourse on the advantages of compound interest and low risk mutual funds while Lorena the Vedette was preparing some delicious homemade guacamole in the corner and I must embarrassingly confess I was staring at her rich and ample derriere the entire time and wishing she would take a load off on my humble and happy face. 

Suddenly and without warning there was a flashback to a previous dreadful morning where Fredericks was imparting to me the necessity of completing all the forms by noon the following day and there was a moment of pure panic when I realized I hadn’t yet completed a one.  Just make sure all the lines are straight and the numbers add up, he said.  There was furious reverse facesitting going on and the vedettes were laughing and berating me all the while.  Eventually my face was their collective footrest and the potent perfume of pantyhose and sweat brought about by countless hours of well choreographed dancing provoked an erection so fierce and stone-hard I would later use it as a bat in the annual office softball game when we played against our old rivals the Inner City Tornadoes (after the game we all gathered around for cheeseburgers and beer, the amusing house wine).  You can make lots of money if you stick with me, kid.  The sad truth is that I hadn’t been a kid in many years.  My God, there were thousands of centipedes right there in the corner and they disgusted and terrified me and I knew Fredericks was receiving oral sex from the new intern Holloway right there in the next room so soon after he reprimanded me.  At least he was cordial enough to provide me with a tall frosty glass of whole milk to consume while I worked.  I counted no less than 17 jets pass by my office during the first hour, leaving their chemtrails behind. 

somewhere, I knew that a queen was searching for her sun.  I missed Adamari’s legs this morning and the realization of this set public education back at least a further 17 years.  I began to wonder if I was still destined to have nine children named Richard Karn as it was once predicted.  5 hours later I was eating mangos and drinking black coffee and couldn’t remember why I was so convinced…. Is there anything more awful than being a parent?  These scallywags are coming for yours falsely.  I only wish for The Jackal’s interference.  I realized after talking to him that he is he is an uncaring thing and everything s/he, he, she, we, he, it’s all related and everything is you. 

Tell it to a Cubs fan, Johns said to me and I knew he was right.  The man has his own submarine after all!  Hell, I’m no mastermind.  If only Ingrid had been by my side I may have been able to properly recover the stolen plutonium.  Come to think of it, why didn’t I just construct the door of my posh flat out of plutonium? 

“I was wearing this pair of Secrets in Lace 7 denier fishnet pantyhose yesterday while learning 9 different yet equally complicated dancing routines,” Jennie the Vedette explained to me, her honeyed words accented by the Mexican sun.  At one point the pantyhose were in my mouth and one point the homemade guac was in my mouth and at one point they both were and the vedettes were prophesying and this was when sperm bullets shot off with remarkable power, range and above average accuracy, leaving behind a majestic rainbow with the world’s tiniest pot of gold residing at its lowest point. 

Yes, I went to a movie by myself and there was no one else in the cinema and it felt so good and when it was over red hot tears were running down my face and I wanted nothing more than to blow my brains out but dag-nab-it I’d forgotten me pistol!  I suppose I think about taking my own life an awful lot.  I’m thinking about it now and still crying while I drink white wine.  Am I turning into a werewolf?  Why do I feel so awful all the time?  It was then, while eating a large stack of blueberry pancakes lathered in gold plated maple syrup with a side of nuclear fission that I realized we are all repulsive shapeless blobs of skin and hair and fluids desperately looking to strike up the rank and unflattering connection that we may scream and gurn and discharge.  Oh we are so repulsive I think as I beg her to laugh at me and stuff her red neck tie in my mouth. 

play!

Hans Zimmer’s score for Tony Scott’s 1996 film Crimson Tide is en route to my humble and unhappy home.  I watched Tale of Tales last night, more on that later.  I am as excited as a school girl that our cinemas are getting (great word) Beatriz at Dinner this Friday.  I’ll be there that very day and for roughly 90 minutes I won’t be thinking of suicide.  But where is The Beguiled?!  When does that expand?!  I am perennially behind the curve; such is the nature of wisdom.  I really like Kanye West’s 2013 album Yeezus.  That’s a great thick industrial hip hop thing.  Still on that Ice-T kick too.  Original gangster.  Syndicate!  I awoke to find the Kookaburra laughing at me. Understandably so. 

Words spill from her mouth like red hot diarrhea during the lavish dinner date.  Afterward they make meat pies together and then look up at the sky, mouths agape in the hopes that thick errant bird shit may go splat inside.  Later on they will discuss politics while eating soup with antique silver forks before capping off the night by driving backhoes through the mud and applying several layers of gauze and lubrication jelly to all broken street signs within a 47 mile radius.  As the sun comes up they’ll piss in the alleyway and flap imaginary wings while wondering why the color blue never said hello to the concept of gravity.  Then they’ll promptly take naps and dream about banana cream pies while their housemaids fashion new blankets made out of the blondest hair of dozens of blind babies.  Then I’ll drop by to borrow a pound of butter a bucket of silt.  

 He seems to sway back and forth to a rhythm only he can hear.  Truly, I awoke only in desperate search of Adamari’s luscious legs but this cute birdie was a pleasant surprise.  Green dress.  I love animals.  Animals should not try to act like people.  Heavens no!  People are awful.  Man, I am ugly.  I mean really physically unattractive with a fat grotesque face.  It’s fucking hard to look at me.  But I’m also ugly on the inside.  Is that more or less crucial?  I love that song Breathless by The Corrs.  Real feel-good splashy sunny pop.  I go pazzo for that kind of feel-good pop perfection.  It makes me momentarily forget what a worthless loser fuckup I am.  It’s a fun song to play on the bass too if that’s your thing.  I drank a double whiskey (on the rocks) last night while reading Naked Lunch.  Then I drank 2 (or possibly 3) glasses of cheap white wine and a double vodka (on the rocks).  I’m a big rocks drinker.  Burroughs is quite an inspirational figure.  

Oh I desperately wish she would berate me, remove her boots after a good match and then use my face for her footrest.  

I think I woke up with something sweet and the concept of forgiveness ringing in my ears.  As I seemingly look for structure he wonders if he is simply deluding himself.  Or is he instead simply diluting himself?  Or is it somehow radically both?  What are you really looking for?  Everything important is emblazoned on a piece of wood.  I guess Year Zero is comparable to Pretty Hate Machine.  I love both albums.  Sinning is my desire.  I meant to write that desire is my sin but it forced itself to come out a different way and forced me to confront the reality of the situation.  Know your mother.  It was a press conference of all things.  The walk in was not graceful but it was perfect.  Secrets in lace of course taught me early on the key identifier and what I would not give to put it to the test during that press conference.  Heathen was something of a predictor.  Bilocation is a skill I’d be keen to learn.  

I would like to buy tickets for Shakira and for Haim.  They both go on sale the same day.  Isn’t that always the way?!

Interaction becoming less and less.  I am a bit frightened by all these zombies.  But the grey-shirts were in full force and I was bad once again.  I think someone was whispering in my ear the other night.  in the midst of it all evil was reborn.  There are bugs inside of me.  Time is passing by and being filled with so much utter meaninglessness.  What is the place?  I would not have walked out if I saw a female pastor, ever.  I consumed some very spicy meat for lunch.  I know in my heart of hearts I will consume a similarly prepared plate of meat again at some point.  

I feel like crying right now over what a failure I am.  I think that first drink of the day is going to have to start before noon from now.  People and their worthless lives.  I suppose we all look for escapes from the pointless misery that is our existence.  Then there was blinding rage.  I am surrounded by fakes.  Am I the fakest of all?  Lucha Underground is on in the background.  Is Lucha the only thing which makes sense anymore?  There is oil running down my back.  I don’t know much about anything, that’s for damn sure.  Pynchon is somewhere next on the list.  I think I’ll watch Creepshow later on.  Tale of Tales reminded me of the power of a good anthology.  Now I want a good creepy pulpy anthology.  I think Creepshow will satisfy that desire.  

Probably Lodger now, a continual source of inspiration.  Walker too.  What have I done?  Is love lost?  Need to figure out the best way to tighten the snare on things.  I need it to be really dry.  Just about to snap!  Wrath of Khan really is one of the best submarine movies ever and I was just too much of a cranberry-loving moron to realize that earlier on.  What a classic!  

Vueltita vueltita vueltita vueltita vueltita!  Who was saying that?  I know and yet i don’t know.  Everything is through the glass.  Babyface.  Not the singer.  But in a completely different sense, yes, the singer.  Love the way it sounds. And looks so happy!  

Oh Marcela.  That little black dress, black heels and – perhaps most crucially – the hosiery and you stole my heart once again.  I willingly submit!  Oh God!  Oh yes!  I melt….  You own me!  

finish the screen

I don’t know where to begin.  I hope you’ll forgive me as I am under appreciable mental strain.  Though I suspect I’ll be writing about these things for a very long time; hopefully this will not be my only chance.  

She said thank you and blew a kiss.  This made me cry too.  I know I am deeply delusional.  What am I talking about?  

I really like Scream 4.  I’ve read 3 Burroughs books now.  Trying to do this shit nice and proper and chronological-like.  I am about to begin The Naked Lunch.  This excites me.  Michael Mann’s Miami Vice movie is quite underrated though I predict its stock will rise in the coming years.  It is a beautiful tone poem of a film.  I hear Scholastic is garbage when it comes to rhyming dictionaries and one should always go with Penguin. I prefer to give up on people because they’ll always disappoint you in the end.  That is simply their nature.  We’re awful.  Awful.  

Danny Elfman was just brought on board to provide the score for Justice League.  This is intriguing.  Elfman of course provided the scores for Tim Burton’s Batman movies and those remain some of my favorite movie scores of all time.  Though in recent years I feel Elfman’s scores have become a bit less…impactful.  This means Junkie XL is out which is a bit sad.  I loved his scores for Mad Max Fury Road and 300: Rise of an Empire and though the score he made (along with Hans Zimmer) for Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice wasn’t quite as good as those it still had very memorable themes for Lex Luthor and Wonder Woman.  In my fucking opinion that is!  I cannot recall a single thing about Elfman’s score for Whedon’s Avengers: Age of Ultron so I’m hoping he can bring back a little more of the bombast of his earlier work.  Or am i?  Heck, I liked a lot of what he did in Corpse Bride.  What a cute flick!  His Red Dragon score is interesting too!  What a shitty flick!  And his work on Hulk is unique!  What a great write I am, describing something as unique!  I miss the days where blockbusters were filled with grand sweeping memorable scores that were a character in their own right.  The recent Wonder Woman movie had a quite a good score so perhaps this is a good sign?!  I like his Sleep Hollow score.  I’m just gonna throw that in there.  Just throw it right the fuck in!

I’ve had Michael Mann’s 2009 flick Public Enemies on in the background all week.  It’s a film I’ve grown to admire greatly over the years though those who know me best know what an unabashed Mann fanboy I am.  Still, I find Christian Bale gives a great, undervalued and subtle performance here and it is one of the very last times I found Johnny Depp interesting.  Maybe the very last!  More importantly (for me) I adore Mann’s use of digital.  I think I loved it even when it was first released and so controversial but maybe that is my own revisionist history.  What a brave fucking film!  I love it!  I have it on right now and I realize I’ve undersold Depp in this because he’s actually great!  But what the fuck do I know?!  Gorgeous nighttime photography!  Same as Blackhat.  

I cannot keep from sinning.  I’ve got 74 million in cash and I’m writing code.  The question is: what for?  Suddenly and without warning I found myself in Malaysia (this was a stroke of luck as I was previously very worried about being arrested in the States for some war games in Thailand).  I’ve been on a bit of an Ice-T kick lately.  I find him to be a fresh and invigorating voice of the streets.  Fresh may not be the most appropriate of words as I’ve chiefly been listening to his work from the 80’s and early 90’s.  But maybe that’s what makes “fresh” the only word that fits!  I am intrigued by the new Body Count album.  Watched New Jack City the other day.  Seems youthful.  Not fully formed.  Still, Van Peebles has a bouncy, colorful, Lucky Charms or Trix cereal feel that I found playful, fun and frothy.  I sorta get it.  I don’t know.  Bounce bounc like a Yo-Yo.  That was a Vanity Fair reference there.  Not the magazine but to something else.  Red.  Fish.  Now I’m in Jakarta.  I am Mr. Misanthrope.  Richard Misanthrope is my name and I was tasked by secret and covert officials in tweed suits to hunt down three quasi men who previously robbed a data disk with 9000 kb’s of information which could upset not only the national political scheme but also foreign eastern fiscal policy.  I stopped by for a few drinks along the way and had brief  bit o’ fun with a Mexican prostitute.  Then I went home and made a sandwich but instead of eating it I just stared at it for a very long time and then decided it was time to turn in for the night.  Love disc 2 of the recent Purple Rain deluxe.  Electric intercourse.  That last Twin Peaks.  Perfection.  Still waiting on the new Encanto....

Tour dates announced my….  I think I’ll have to take out some money from those low risk mutual funds in which I invested.  Buying ore on the dollar.  Oh we are all so very sad.  Let’s devote the majority of our time to something we don’t care about.  That’s the ticket!  I gots to be careful.  Breach of contract is right around the corner.  It can be truly said that Ecuador has stolen my heart.  Ecuador in all it’s shininess.  Not just there though.  But often there.  I always look for the shine.  Did they play up the rivalry a sufficient amount?  The Jackal has the shininess again.  And opaque black hands.  Red on top.  My precious Rhapsody in Blue was the last great sin (I think).  We’ll never really see each other with the banshees.  But that’s okay.  The birth of evil inside nuclear destruction.  Nuclear birth.  Atomic birth.  I vomited out some eggs.  I wasn’t there when it (he? She?) died.   Her head was bleeding while – 

I don’t have the answers anymore.  I never did.  Haha, how trite, hahaha!  

pink cover (bit vulgar(

I was sitting there watching these people turn into crabs and surprised at how not terrified I truly was.  It could be because just a few seats down the bar there was a plump Mexican business woman wearing a white collared shirt, black neck tie, black skirt, black heels and pantyhose with one leg crossed over the other and I found it difficult to take my eyes off her.  Her hair was as black as her heels and she was sipping gingerly on a Singapore Sling and I did not have the temerity to approach her.  instead I turned my attention to the game of pocket billiards taking place directly behind and promptly made a bet the likes of which I could not pay with a traveling salesmen who said he was in town for something like a fascist convention and I could only chuckle and tell him my motorcycle was in the shop and if he wanted to talk politic he damn well better buy me another drink and maybe spring for a stick of beef jerky or something and I had just enough presence of mind to ask who the hell let all these gazelle and antelope inside the bar as they’d already tipped over twelve fucking drinks by last count.  I was on my fourteenth drink or something like that and I felt pretty good and I knew someone had given some pills but they did not make me feel anything.  The Mexican businesswoman was named Yamilia I think and I desperately wished to die and be reincarnated at that exact moment as the bar stool in which she currently rested her ample and hosiery clad derriere.  I dare not talk to her though. I think I was likely scared of the thinly wrapped bar of chocolate which I saw just out of the corner of my eye and which reminded me oh so far very much of the thin grey alien which had abducted me only the previous night and subjected me to all manner of horrifying and painful experiments and procedures.  Someone next to me inquired about anal probing at that exact moment but I shrugged them off and told them about a charity to which I’d donated to not several days before and which promised to help keep local kids off drugs.  I knew there were several local kids choking their last breaths right outside the bar at this exact moment and though I felt some semblance of sympathy for them I also knew I truly wanted nothing more than to consume a large bowl of frosted flakes and drive around an airport parking lot for four consecutive hours with the windows rolled down.  She had a mole on her face which I thought was very attractive.  

When I walked outside I was surprised to find how many were made of gold.  I made my way to a local hardware store where I proceeded to dance and two-step and wonder out loud about the best way to supplant local political impotency but by that moment there was already a bomb squad in place and I approached several prostitutes but none of them exactly fit the bill as the kids say and I recalled in that exact moment the words of a wiser man who indicated that research had indeed pierced all extremes of my sex.  Still, it was hard to argue with the diplomacy and there was one in particular whose shoes and fishnet pantyhose I wished to smell and I promptly offered her five dollars American for this joyous opportunity and when she scoffed at that idea I bumped it up to five hundred dollars American or her best offer and I held her used hosiery and shoes up to my face while her hand went  to work but my critical moment of pleasure was swiftly interrupted when I spotted a couple of man-sized lobsters practicing what I recognized as Brazilian ju-jitsu not twenty feet from my current location and I screamed and ran roughly 1.5 miles with my cock hanging out my rent trousers  flapping to and fro in accordance with the rhythm of my hurried steps.  

Sometime later and I furiously ejaculated into my rent trousers at that exact moment while I had 9 pairs of used pantyhose of various denier wrapper tightly around my face (along with one flesh colored pair stuff in my mouth and a black pair tied only around my mouth with a knot at the base of my neck to keep the flesh pair properly stuffed, both used) and I passed out for a moment and came dangerously close to suffocating and dying but at least it would have been while enveloped in glorious aromatic femininity and above me there is a poster of David Bowie which is the cover of his classic album “Heroes” and it is first thing I see after I wake up and all pull off all the precious hosiery and I scream out in a voice very guttural that for some reason does not sound like my own “The secret life of Arabia!” and then I burst into histrionic laughter when I realize it all comes from Burroughs but does it really?  White bullets.  Then I realize that everything is dada.  Everything is dada right in front of my fucking glazed over eyes and all I can do is thank the Lord for women’s feet and arches and heels.  There is Cronenberg film on the in background somewhere and soon it will probably be Mann and I think back and realize I would very much like to watch her make guacamole in front of me and lick it off her finger and then dip her foot in it and force me to eat it off her foot.  I’ve written about this before of course.  is there anything greater than hosiery?  Seams in the back running up curvy calves.  Reinforced heel-toe.  Shimmer.  Dangling as a high heel pump hangs precariously just off the tip of the big toe and then oh my God oh my sweet God it falls to the floor with a clank and then there is fast semen pumping action.  I do apologize for the vulgarity.  Black Panther looks fucking great.