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!).
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