blue rose life (evil born on suburban street with lights going out, cassette tape, cameras, pbr & expresso) & black clad glory

Of course she was.  No.  of course she is.  he realized it a bit late in the game.  Comically so.  But it was the absence which clinched it for him.  Going in search and coming up short.  He had no choice but to laugh at himself and eat a cookie.  Red was the daily replacement.  There was no room for him to grouse.  A picture is worth fifty thousand words they say.  There was a picture last night and he would forever more curse himself for reneging in his self-appointed responsibilities.  There was a contest going on. In a sense you could say it was a battle of wills but that was really only the secondary internal conflict.  No, truth be told there was a very much a contest taking place of the classic variety.  And behold, he was suddenly filled with fear that he was unexpectedly made real by being seen through the glass.  Yet this ultimately did not seem to be the case.  But it could have been so and that makes so much difference doesn’t it?  

I found a list of fifty ambience . of course I was also watching Vampire and the Ballerina earlier.  How could I not be?  I’m still waiting on that package from Japan.  But when it arrives there’s no telling of the emotional damage it may do to me.  It’s going to be a massacre.  I think I’ll watch an old cold Cronenberg movie while I wait.  Why not?!  I need to make an appointment to engage in psychoplasmics.  The distortions of the flesh were certainly shocking.  Everything was strings but this caused no diminishment.  In the end we are just all too malleable piles of flesh.  things were drawn too tight and it was quite easy to draw blood, tear open this protoplasmic sack and bring forth my mutant baby.  Would we all be so brazen as to lick our mutant babies?  Only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right babies.  We are all just flesh.  Mounds of it really.  Wires.  Gaze upon the…

I’ve fallen madly in love with Klein’s monochromes.  That blue is so bluish it almost makes my eyes liquefy and ooze out of my fat ugly face.  I need to buy a book on o’ Yves asap.  Maybe one day I’ll find myself in a room where I do nothing but lay on the floor and stare at Klein’s monochromes while listening to discreet music by Brian Eno for hours on end.  Then maybe I’ll blow my brains out because what would there be left to do at that point?!  I love minimalism.  I see now the correlation in Joe Lally’s bass playing (and excellent albums) and where the seed of this was all planted for me in the Berlin trilogy (oh Low, oh sweet sweet Low).  I’ve been breaking glass in your room again. is there a correlation in Cronenberg’s early films?

He’s been able to stay true to that promise so far.  No records held yet.  The whispering conscience is uniquely female.  That seems appropriate.  Working on ideas for bass songs.  Anyone have any ideas to submit.  New forms or inspiration greet me and embrace me.  this is about this thing but also about the other.  It seems I have badly overlooked what could be quite a gem from the bone tomahawk man.  What an arrogant ass I am!  That should come as no surprise to those unfortunate souls who know me best.  My wishes have been ignored but that’s okay.  Exploration is in session perhaps.  Phantom thread had so much packed in to unravel.  It was wholly satisfying.  I feel so wonderful there.  his thoughts don’t even venture toward that killing and renewal.  Not when there. 

He made a bit of an error in judgment.  Was it a tactical error?  No, nothing so crass.  He thought he’d killed his muse.  But they are flowering everywhere, more than ever.  Returned.  What was the price for that sweet bread?  Please don’t take that as insult.  No, this was something different.  The sounds of a circus over and over afterward and thoughts of spinning.  Mustn’t forget someone so tall.  Not the focus but still more than welcome.  But returning to…are they the same person near and far?  Don’t drive.  Thank you.  He belongs in the service of.  Yes, and then afterward they lay together after dark and listen to kind of blue.  His thought are perhaps her thoughts.  What was the price of that?  I’m going to ask him, she thought, with a smile.  Leaving her glasses behind.  Worship later on underfoot.  Blood of Eden.  It all suddenly made sense in that moment.  All the earthly desires and instruments.  It was all connected and all so beautiful.  Not an accent at all.  Not really.  But perfect in its way.  Uniquely musical.  He’d forgotten how beautiful…without the…. Born again.  And at the moment of departure, as I stated earlier, flowering everywhere.  There was new and renewed inspiration taking hold.  Lovely. 

I watched the movie One Night With the King at some point recently.  Esther is a very good book to read.  I liked this movie.  It was quite colorful, quite nice to behold.  The narrative was very messy but overall I felt it’s heart was in the right place and the performance by the lead was sweet and endearing and carried the movie well. 

Maybe.  Just maybe.  Oh, how I love minimalism.  I was there in the café with my copy of Yves Peintures.  My eyes were penetrated and I saw clearly for the first time.  there is so much emptiness.  And so much beauty.  Oh, to be swept away in the flood.  In the end, las brujas more than sufficed.  Black and white.  You know what else I love? You do if you’ve read all this very carefully.  

And of course, a happy birthday to a very special someone.  Thank you.  A thousand, million zillion times thank you for everything.  The importance and inspiration cannot be overstated.  What would I do without…?  Not sure which to choose.  I will gladly travel down that road forever.