and an overcooked cheeseburger too (seriously people, don't wait so long to...!)!

Another sacrifice to the fire gods, eh?  

We’re all just tilting at windmills.  I told myself to shut the fuck up several times today.  Sometimes I said it with a smirk on my face.  Who was I just thinking about a moment ago?  Good God, that coffee is really doing a number on my stomach.  He was going for the birthday girl but she was already leaving to get her party on, to get her all-out motherfucking freak on, dare I say!  (just end it all, no one will care.  They’ll all be better off). 

Who were you trying to superimpose onto that identity?  He watched as a thick muscular Brazilian woman with gorgeous black hair squeezed the life out of her stepson’s head with her voluminous and powerful thighs.  It was lovely perversity, he thought to himself.  Were you imagining yourself in that situation you sick bastard?!

  
A day in the life as our identities mean less and less.  They’ve fallen in love with technology.  Who are they?  The zombies?  Is that accurate, is that fair to say?  Someone with black eyes like daggers first used that phrase around me.  Red slash, do you recall?  There was cold sweat running down my face.  Wake up baby.  We cannot be mistakes, by my understanding of things.  But we are so deeply awful it hurts.  We are not yet swimming in hell.  It is wishful thinking of the most fanciful kind to think we deserve something more.  Tilting at windmills again, we send our loved ones to the underground where we belong because we’re so much more in love with our own terrible selves.  If I walk up and down the street I can see the souls rotting.  Sometimes they stick to the bottoms of my shoes and I then have to clean the waffle out with a stick.  

Could Dunkirk take the place of The Prestige as my favorite Christopher Nolan movie?  I need to watch it at least 49 more times to even begin thinking about ranking it.  I’m listening to Tempest by Bob Dylan.  I think I first heard this album inside a metaphorical fish bowl.  It’s really stayed with me, both physically and metaphorically.  I think I would like to hear it while in a sandwich shop one day. 

I really like Jack Ketchum’s work.  I have found the books I’ve read of his to be most satisfying.  At some point in my miserable life I’d like to read more (just take a knife from the kitchen and do it all already, remember the recommended vertical cuts!).  I watched the Australian horror movie Killing Ground this morning while consuming scrambled eggs, sausage and black coffee.  The movie reminded me in parts of Ketchum’s debut novel Off Season.  On the whole the movie was merely acceptable though it did have a mean streak I enjoyed.  Off Season is a great book though and I love it so.  I’m staring at my tattered and yellowed well-read copy right now and I’m tempted to douse it in Cholula and consume for dinner. 

Magenta leotard (links elsewhere).

Speaking of Australians I’ve been listening to a fair amount of Bon Scott era AC DC.  It’s funny, as a young man I favored Brian Johnson though now in my ripe old age I prefer Scott.  Though my favorite AC DC singer still remains Dave Evans and I can’t imagine this ever changing.  Highway to Hell is a sweaty and urgent rock album. I listened to it the other day while driving.  I was so pumped by the propulsive tunes I actually drove four miles over the legal limit, chewing Wrigley’s Winterfresh chewing gum all the while.  Such is the nature of wisdom.  

Anyone heard the 1994 album The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails?!  Great album.  Classic.  Reznor has said David Bowie’s 1977 album Low was the single biggest influence on that album.  Low is super classic.  As much as I love The Downward Spiral, I simply adore Low (and the following 2 parts of the Berlin Trilogy) which should come as no surprise to avid followers of my worthless work.  Low has also had a tremendous influence on me so how come The Downward Spiral is so awesome and I’m so useless?

 
The movie Taxi Driver is on the background.  I’ve seen it countless times.  I love that movie.  In fact, I would say it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in my utterly worthless life.  Is it Scorsese’s best?!  Likely not.  But it’s up there!  Thank God he’s stopped working with Leo (or so it seems)!

It took me awhile to get to but I’m listening to The Life of Pablo.  I’m behind the times.  When is the last time someone did something innovative in rock music?  Is rock relevant in any way at all these days?  Could it just be that far more interesting music is being created in the rap and hip hop fields these days?  Or has that gone down the proverbial crapper too since the glorious 90’s.  I was listening to Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx the other day. What a great album!

Would she be surprised by how often she shows up?  These are not small appearances.  They are lengthy.  They are daily.  He changes the scenery, travels all over the world and across the universe and still she always walks right through the front door.  She talks about torture and ancient Indian burial grounds.  She talks about love.  This is an awful dream.  She shows up everywhere and he does his best not to compare. 

I foolishly thought Ricardo – that rogue – was the key but I only hit another dead fucking end!  It took so long to locate Gomez and now that he’s been located I assumed a wealth of information would be at my disposal but I still feel just as far away as ever.  Alma.  The soul.  And I learned she was living with the rogue for a while.  This would seem to explain all their appearances together.  I need to look for more common threads here, find that special friend.  Goddammit, I’m gonna finish this if it’s the last motherfucking thing I do!  Yamila, I swear….

He fantasizes too much about being strangled these days.  Who is he?  He is evil.   

confession over overcooked pasta (why wait so long?)

So I watched the new Justice League trailer earlier today and then, apropos of nothing, I proceeded to eat big ol’ ball of yarn.  People have been literally dying to know what I think of the new footage.  I love love love the song Katrina’s Paper Dolls from the Purple Rain deluxe release.  It is so frothy and summery and lovely.  It is slight, but blissfully slight.  It’s like eating ice cream in the park with your one true love (but only in your head because nothing truly works out).  I need him for the melodies.  And of course the extended version of Computer Blue is an unstoppable funk monster. 

I failed again, to the letter.  It was difficult to sleep last night.  Actually, that’s not true at all.  That being said, I was definitely full of self-loathing though this is certainly nothing new.  The Thin Red Line was on in the background at some point today.  It is still my favorite war movie.  I’m not really a fan of war movies.  Someone or maybe a group of people were talking about the conflict between love and sex.  For a moment, they forgot about God.  I’m sorry. I must have said this one thousand times last night.  We are all wonderful and unique snowflakes and we all deserve to have our voices heard.  Chortle.  Live baby live!  I never got the chance to welcome her to the country.  I only offered advice.  Am I something awful whispering into someone else’s ear while it all goes down the drain?  I messed it all up.  I am a betrayer.  I am a despicable and disgusting human being.  I wish I could wipe everyone’s memory of my existence. 

I like the look of some things.  Me still eager to hear Elfman’s score.  There’s a part that reminds me of something but I don’t know what.  What a throwaway paragraph.  I love the Kirby stuff so I was excited to see Steppenwolf and the red Apokolipsian skies and the Parademons despite by better judgment.  And hell, Affleck’s Batman costume still continues to look cool as hell!  Not sure if this will be his last outing as the caped crusader but if so it was certainly an interesting (if brief) ride. But then…I don’t know.  Whatevs.  

We’re all two of more people and all of them are terrible.  I really like the song Zoo Station.  I bought Tyler the Creator’s new album, haven’t had a chance to listen yet.  But soon I will.  

Meaningless and lifeless spurt.  Oh we are all so very awful.  I am no exception.  I have never been exceptional.  I devoured lamb with a smile on my face.  I desperately needed something before, during and after to make me numb.  I think last time I said it but it’s true again.  Wait, what am I talking about?  The green wheels again.  I always tell myself the same thing and always while cowering in a corner.  I’ve never done good things.  Is this all there is?  How can anyone be happy?  We are all fooling ourselves.  This time in play is also side A of the one with the black and white ship.  What will I be believing and who will connect me with love?  I am a selfish and disgusting thing and there must be many who would prefer to see my face with a giant smoking hole in it.  I forgot those lessons she taught me.  Where were we?  The room was dark.  I forgot that sweet name despite the rebirth.  

In all my gushing about Haim’s new album I forgot to mention I recently acquired (rather late in the game) Megadeth’s most recent album Dystopia.  I like.  I must see Dunkirk again.  I likely will either this week or the following.  I will need at least a year before determining where it ranks overall in the man’s filmography.  The Addiction is one of my favorite movies of all time.  

I was watching You Only Live Twice again recently (twice in twice days) when I connected the dots between the classic Bond films – Connery and Lazenby and Moore – and the original 1978 Superman movie directed by Richard Donner (Dick to his friends just as I can be A dick to my friends).  Gene Hackman’s portrayal Lex Luthor is very much a Bond villain right down to his awesome liar.  And I mean that in a highly complimenty way as Bond villains are grand.  Particularly Blofeld from the movie I mentioned in the first sentence of this paragraph!  He is very pleasant!  My fave Blofeld.  One day he would hunt The Shape.  Goldfinger is great.  I’m not sure which I prefer between Goldfinger and You Only Live twice.  I don’t know anything (why do we have to live in so much pain?).  

As the gates of Heaven open up I wonder if the music playing is in B-major?  I think I first heard this during a time of appreciable hunger.  None of us can help but suck a little blood.  How fitting that he was also there, always so present.  There is jasmine and I am beneath the covers and wondering who was the most of anyone.  And I think I know.  There was time for tea and slowly we glided floating with the tide while he longed to hear you whisper his name.  Please call us together while we join their meeting.  There are flowers expressing their praises in the same moment and this is what it was made for.  An unexpected embrace and later on there was time to cry and hope and there was always the glorious omnipresent desire to die.  

He desires to lay in sweetest sin and read from the lotus Bible.  We just misheard one another is the problem.  No, I was the only one who misheard.  Your voice was very clear.  He saw her for the first time on a summer evening; the sun was almost gone.  He begs for only a couple words.  Those words are the cruelest thing of all and he prays for them to appear and prays for them to be gone.  Those snow-winged swans harmonizing.  Someone sings something else that sounds like we’re going to die tonight and it is so very comforting.  Anna’s recording sounds lovely.  You are still lovely. 

Happy birthday to George Clinton who’s given us some of the very best and funkiest music ever.  Still one of the best concerts I’ve ever attended.  

litany of s (too literal)

Malick’s Song To Song completed a fascinating trilogy.  I’m curious how these films will be viewed decades from now.  

The last episode of Lucha Underground was revelatory.  Did she turn heel?  That is the big question I was left with.  Always a very entertaining performer, it was heartbreaking to see her disqualification and a possible onset in a move away from being a babyface.  I would love to speak with her about it.  Though never breaking kayfabe of course.  Kayfabe is the key.

I looked for purity inside of sin.  The vibes!  The feels!  Track 6 gives it to me!  MJesque?!  There was one point of resistance though it was more dumb luck than anything else.  Don’t credit me with anything please. Bringer of pain.  There is always a summation.  Don’t forget who was standing there alongside the Queen.  A compliment granted to her shirt.  I want to escape to the costume ball.  Only there am I happy.  No Rhapsody, please.  It was grotesque craving, standing alongside there.  obvious.  No one else’s fault.  Those last sweet words were spied.  I did not deserve them.

I now have Haim’s new album and am listening to it as I crap out this latest burst of pointless prose so kindly ignore what I will say later on as it is no longer accurate.  I am surely enjoying it so far.  It is keen growing with this group.  I can’t stand the group Keane though so I now I regret that word choice.  

I have never been a fan of joy (spelled wrong) and the answer lies in Parade, 9.  Scary Monsters is very much everything right now.  I am similarly cowering in a corner, mulling over my broken promise.  How many times have I broken that particular one?  Am I to be banished?  Glassy.  I can only describe those as glassy exteriors which seem altogether appropriate.  Now that she mentions it, some Sign O’ the Times probably would help me too.  But right now I just need all these super creeps (that’s what I am).  I nearly forget that children around the world put camel shit on the walls.  

I am truly disgusting.  Thankfully, there was no Rhapsody in Blue today.  I was allowed something of a reprieve though twas not for like of corrupt trying on my part.  No more Rhapsody, that’s what I need.  That’s one of the last things I need.  No more costume balls. Maybe one but very carefully locked away.  It came down to two out of four in the end.  50% , the kids might say.  ½ if you’re a fraction fan. The opposite of good.  Still, I was spared by half and I thank You for that.  I am sorry but I can’t say that anymore.  My mug shot is too unpolished.    

Arrow’s deluxe blu ray release of Wes Craven’s The Hill Have Eyes is a fucking beautiful package and restoration!  What a gritty and grimy flick!  You know, I actually quite liked Aja’s 2006 remake.  Definitely one of the best horror remakes in my worthless opinion.  Craven’s original A Nightmare on Elm Street is also great, dirty horror.  I don’t mean dirty as sexual either.  Craven often infuses a great grimy aesthetic.  Interesting that he got his start making pornography though.  

And then I realized the pointlessness of pleasure.  The yearning for the empty spurt. It all comes and goes.  We are putrid.  None more than I.  I sought solace in sin.  And my sin has a direct reflection and an immediate consequence. There is pain everywhere.  I wonder if I am evil. 

The Queen of the Guacamole was out in full force today, generous contribution to general crumbling and demise.  She was making her usual prophecies and issuances of priceless advice (to which I am forever in debt) and this time the discourse turned to the age old topic of finance.  The almighty dollar and the loss of so much.  Multas.  Or am I thinking of Tulpas?  I love them both in very different ways.  There was an episode from last year’s season of The X-Files which dealt with a tulpa.  I adored that episode.  Though it was definitely more than a little reminiscent of the 1992 horror flick Candyman.  I adore Candyman.  And the Phillip Glass score!  Speaking of Glass I still need to fucking get those—

Four songs in and I am excitedly enjoying this album!  4 for 4!  Believe it.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a great movie.  Truly great. 

Tyler the Creator’s 2015 album Cherry Bomb has a striking industrial sound but I wonder if it’s as effective as it’s clear predecessor, Kanye West’s superlative 2013 album Yeezus.  My lower intestine tells me no.  Though Cherry Bomb is certainly a grower and has an always welcome funk element.  I like the covers too.  The literal covers.  I’m interested in his new album as the first couple singles are quite strong.  I still need to buy Haim’s new album!  Maybe on my next trip to Palm Springs!  

Maroon.  I will never forget the sight of maroon.  When she looked at me like I wasn’t even human…I liked it.  

Working backwards I suppose and still operating under largely nameless suppositions.  Or was there something else?  Yes, maybe.  The Linguist?  The Greek?  I need to look back. I need to search deep and look within (hand me that sword and then disappear into the ether why don’t you?!).  This was at the root of it.  The beginning of the failure.  I choose to wallow in sin.  I am a truly ugly person in every sense of the word.  Lovely and perfumed by the morning. It was the finest beginning.  The end of the beginning was confrontation.  I was half-witness.  Blushing.  Happiness tainted by us.  Canon?  They always do that.  It always begins in sin.  I plead to a piece of wood.  I need forgiveness but I need something else more.  Mother of everything.  

Woke up and wanted to cry and die but I only ended up crying. It’s all so pointless.  What’s happened to my sense of humor?  I love track 5, beautiful.  I love this group.  I look forward to growing with them.  Watched You Only Live Twice last night; great classic Bond.  Connery for me.  let's not bring our personal lives into things.  I am awful.  Please only take things out on me.  no on else deserves anything harsh.  I am an awful person.  I am a sinner.  I hate myself.  I often wish for death. 

my little miracle.  that is lovely.  it would be so nice to end there.  if only.  please enjoy that time away.  no thanks necessary for the tip.  

“Shame on all of us,” he said.  Oh, how right you are.  Have truer words ever been spoken?

is it about tech in heat?!

The mad bastard greeted me at midday’s dawn wearing a lime green suit and talking all about compound interest and the recent mineral deposits so prevalent in men of a certain age.  “Please don’t make me eat cockroaches today, mum,” I said in my best baby doll voice, more of a coo really, a gentle lilt in that autumnal breeze which really enhanced the intimacy of the moment.  I briefly wondered if he would bend me over the metal handrail and claim me as his own – both in body and mind – but instead he simply pulled out the latest issue of Lapham’s Quarterly and munched gingerly on a Turkey and Swiss sandwich, checking his watch every seven minutes as a means of protracting the obvious.  I wish I could say I stayed there and ate oyster crackers but the truth is I scampered off to something of an all-purpose utilities store and bought a new Stetson to add to my already formidable collection.  I decided to premiere it later on in the sweltering heat where I would subsequently talk about how much less and less I know about myself.  Dennis was definitely the best Tom.  “You’re fourteen years old!  Fourteen!” the bitch said with her ignorant and ugly mouth.  I could tell he wanted to savagely beat her to death – or at least push her down a flight of stairs in such a way as to ensure neck breakage – but he didn’t have the guts.  Let’s just face facts: he never had the chops, he couldn’t cut the mustard!  

 I was taken aback once more at the disgusting nature of our sexual desires.  They are also replete with a rampant pathetic streak.  We crave a certain stickiness.  We are very much the vermin, filth and pestilence.  I feel sick to my stomach next to my fellow man.  I am the same as any other.  What needy awful things we are. 

What happened to my collection of colorfully painted skulls?  Please don’t make me kiss a dead guy’s jewelry again.  It was so flattering of Mel to remember.  She looked simply gorgeous in that specially designed wedding dress.  Even though she was half-dead I still wanted to be with her; bodies on fire with desire.  Let’s put it all out there for others to see.  We must receive compliments.  Someone please have pity on me and tell me how special I am.  The stars are not the same anywhere.  Anymore.  Pity.  That last half or so has nothing to do with Mel, who is great.  Red sails and thunder rosa! 

I found Alice in Wonderland to be unmitigated dreck and the viewing of it was something of a heartbreaking experience as I have such great love for so many of Tim Burton’s movies (Sleepy Hollow is probably the cutoff point).  I never saw the commercial disappointment Alice Through the Looking Glass (which was not directed by Burton) however composer Danny Elfman did provide the score for both movies and I heard his score for the latter was quite good (though his score for the former was also widely praised).  Herein lies my age-old dilemma: I’ve been on a big Elfman kick lately and would like to acquire both scores for my listening pleasure but I long ago made a silent vow to always watch the movie before listening to the score as the very nature of film music is so beholden to what’s happening on the screen.  Yet the thought of sitting through this movie and watching Johnny Depp for 2 more hours is enough to make me feel reluctance!  You hear that!  You hear my analogy?!  It’s enough to make me feel reluctance! I’m using literary irony here; it’s one of the writer’s sharpest and most powerful tools and can easily be used as a weapon when the situation demands it.  Do I dare purchase and listen to this score without watching the movie?!  Could I possibly live with myself afterward?  I mean, I sit here and these questions weigh so heavily in my mind and I just don’t know what to do about it.  God, I don’t know what to do.  

Jones used to say there’d be a time when we could all lose our minds.  Those truly were the days.  We were living in the end times.  We lived like savages then.  Beautiful savages.  More than people realize, that’s what John said when I showed him.  He didn’t recognize but he still saw.  They’re sending a dummy to….  Still holds up, eh?  Yes it does.  Thank you for the challenge.  Without the challenge I’d be in just as narrow a hallway as that guy!  I’ll probably be seeing the new Spider-Man movie tomorrow or maybe a day or two after that.  Stranger by the Lake was a bold, sly, natty and forceful movie.  Thanks so much for watching out for me.  My goose was almost literally cooked.  ABCD. I keep checking, don’t I?  

But you were right, I said as the nameless woman smiled and nodded.  We are falling in love with an illusion inside the square, a construct.  We invent and project as much as you do.  If only I had more stripes.  Then I would be that much closer.  But we can never really know.  We’re not allowed to know.  

There was that unexpected moment of happiness.  He saw her in that single instant loved her and knew of their entire lives together.  She was wearing purple and walking through in the afternoon sun and she had a baby in her arms.  This is not for me but it is.  He tried so hard to find her.  Even though he always knew right where to look he still explored.  “Awe.”  The alchemist said she would likely never forget.  That time was meant to be something.  She held up her hand and offered it.  What’s your name? 

Watched Lost Highway again the other night.  I simply adore that movie. It is such an inspirational and aspirational work.  

The new Malick and Korean food.  That is my evening.  That is a great evening.  Possibly Naked Lunch sprinkled in.  Can’t forget to look out for—

one one one three (just a number)

My compact disc copy of Danny Elfman’s score to Tim Burton’s 1999 flick Sleepy Hollow arrived in the mail today and along with the disc was a small hastily scrawled personalized note from the seller which read “Thanks & Enjoy!”  Those little touches make all the difference in this increasingly miserable world and are precisely what will make yours falsely a repeat customer.  I was at the cinema and when the movie ended I wanted to kill myself.  I recommend Beatriz at Dinner.  It rests entirely on the very capable shoulders of Salma Hayek and John Lithgow.  King Cobra was an interesting film with performances both bold and subtle and some surefooted direction.  

I’m shitting on my whole life.  Let’s go to the beach!  Let’s go eat some shit!  We’ve had some hot days recently.  That’s why I watched The Howling last night. Beautiful blu ray transfer.  Just look!  I only pretend not to care.  Underneath I am crying enough rivers to fill a thousand oceans!! Still waters run deep.  Yet I’m only happy when it rains.  I’m a bit tired of Zimmer but his score to Crimson Tide is quite good.  I can’t deny it.  I can’t decry it.  

I was tasked by a covert organization to intercept the transfer of said documents.  I promptly vomited in an old waste basket and then danced a mambo with a gorgeous woman named Ana who had pom-poms on her pink pumps and the sight of this made my eyes bulge and pulse quicken and after the dance I acquiesced to her desires and ordered a large stack of buttermilk pancakes lathered in Buttress’s store brand butter and Buttress’s brand maple syrup.  She piled on the powdered sugar and after she was done consuming her breakfast she discussed finances and the new issue of Lapham’s Quarterly.  

At the document drop I attempted to run up and distract them with a tale of my hockey oriented youth and was planning to snatch the secret documents [(which were actually thin sheets of plastic written on with invisible ink only accessed by drinking strychnine out of a glass with a little umbrella and green olive (with the pit, always with the pit, no pits is the pits is what I always say!)] though I was promptly shot by Agent Walters and my leg exploded like it was made of molasses and bird seed.  I feel to the ground screaming “bloody homicide” and then laughed when I remembered the time I began a cross country trip before having to turn back only 3 hours in upon grimly realizing I’d left the stove on and my wallet in the safe.  Walters told me to lay still and count balls of yarn and that the ambulance would be there in no time due to the recent advances in quantum mechanics.  He told me to apply pressure and don’t forget to buy more oatmeal for the tri-annual bake-off!  Then he hoisted a Sony boombox onto his leather jacket clad shoulder and began blasting the new hit from Karol G and Bad Bunny (El Rey de Trap).  This came as no surprise as Walters has long been a music enthusiast and frequently speaks of the freeing and sensuous grooves found in Trap, Bachata and Reggaeton.  

A redneck was skinning someone alive to left of me and I asked them to please keep it down as I wanted to fully appreciate the liquid tight rhythms pumping through the Sony speakers.  Four prostitutes walked by (one white, one black, one Asian and one Latin) and laughed at my misfortune and I promptly asked the Latin one to sit on my face and start twerking the shit out of it as I’ve long fantasized about being unceremoniously twerked to death!  “Gyrate gal, gyrate,” I said in my best Jamaican accent though admittedly it’d been since I last vacationed in the islands and I was more than a little rusty.  

“Honey, facefucking of any sort costs a pretty penny.  You want the goods you gotta show me the cheddar,” she said, turning around so I could get a mouth watering glimpse of her massive derriere which was lovingly crammed into a cheetah print skirt.  “Upon receiving of the payment in Swiss escrow I will then proceed to facefuck you to death as you wish, just really twerk the ever-living shit right out of you.  I will also regale with the tale of when I danced Agamemnon in the Russian Bolshoi ballet during the great summer of 96’.”   

“Damnit Walters,” I cried out through gritted teeth, the taste of yesterday’s lime Jell-o still thick on my tongue, “you don’t realize what you’re doing!  If I don’t secure those documents we’re all gonna have front row tickets to the last shit show on earth!  I’m talking real Armageddon shit, friend!  There won’t be enough vulcanized rubber in all of London to save your sorry candy ass!  Damn you Walters!  I’ll follow you til the end of time itself you aluminum fink fuck!”
George Romero’s Creepshow is a colorful comic infused and ghoulishly good time.  I’ve lost interest in myself.  My self.  

Nine Inch Nails EP from last December, I is really connect with it right now.  It has a real punk spirit.  Peaks helped. It reminds in some ways of How to Destroy Angels’s debut EP which is a great little record that still gets a lot of spins to this very day!  

The Hills Have Eyes is one of my favorite Wes Craven movies.  I’m eager to see how Arrow’s transfer of the film looks.  I’m saying it right now: for my money it is the superior gritty and sweaty 70’s horror flick, ahead of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (though likely not a patch on many of the Italian horror flicks of the era).  

If only I could be a Chinese man who resembled Vladimir Putin.  Then everything would be mine.  All at once I was happy again and eating cinnamon by the spoonful and listening to Ice-T’s 1991 Original Gangster!  What a fucking great album!  And 1991 was such a great year for music!  Also, I like Spike Lee movies a lot.  I watched one earlier today called Girl 6.  Great soundtrack.  And great direction.  Good ol’ Spike.  Screams of Passion is a hot song.  And that scene with the cross near the end?!  Bravura filmmaking!  Fucking bravura! 

Really like the new Tyler stuff.  I am such a poseur.  Pretty soon I’ll be listening to the Berlin trilogy a lot again.  Look back in anger!  

I figure 5 more years of hard work and maybe I’ll be a real human being.  (5 years, that’s all we got!).