even third (perfection)

Outlining a new project in the early mornin’.  More frantic now after so much liquidity.  I fall into nonsense right away.  A bit sentimental in the evening, eh?  Everything held together by such a fragile thread.  Was it fish and chips.  Ten dollars for fish and chips, what the fuck?!  Yes, it was the same location.  Odd looking dogs.  I loved the way you said the word torture.  Spring dress.  Green and some point.  Cornflower.  Have to remember everything.  Close at the potluck.  Smile.  Hug.  Very flattering.  Nothing matters anymore, chance encounter later on at a place with a lot of western wear.  Boy am I a worthless individual.  Don’t want to let this go even though it was always nothing.  I ascribed meaning to it but it was nothing.  But I would feel the absence too much.  Can’t even put it into words right now.  And I see how much difference a decade makes.  Boy was I stupid or what?!  Why do I say was?!  Want someone else to see me succeed or know when I die.  I need to bury this now.  Shoulda been tipped off when reading was denied.  Of course it was.  What a worthless soul.  Me.  have to pinpoint the substitute for love.  Oh appropriate afterward the predecessor to perfume following the substitute. 

No paint now.  And on the chair.  So wonderful.  Forward and back.  That’s why it’s post now.  Death abyss.  Makes sense not the train of mind.  Little death.  Tell the truth.  It’s all the same as yesterday’s writings.  Right down to being Outside.  So filthy.  That’s the word I was looking for yesterday and what I am.  So lovely with and without the mask, new muse.  Dying in sweetest sin. 

That was much of the day, right?  Though my internal chronometer was malfunctioning (my skin needs to be a bit more metallic yellow and oh how I long to return but it must a reward after so much self chosen shit, thanks to that mad season, reconnecting after so many years at my tender age, young and old again, but still ultimately nothing).  Eyes are going to fall out soon.  Still thinking about that hotel (which of course brings to mind the motel and still another location with encroaching technology and treacherous identity).  Need to buy a tattered old book and at  some point flight myself from very very high stairs in a big commercial building, screaming with unbridled joy while I do this.  And then BAM I crack my big dome on the hard hard floor and there’s lots of delicious deep red blood everywhere!  But yeah, for much of the day I was trying to figure out the difference in the time zones, seeing when this all happened.  Those brief seconds were my only solace today.

The sexiest I’ve seen in ages.  Total obsession.  Oh how I long to have a drink in a dark smoky locale.  Far far away from here.  I’m creating a pedestal right now. Creating an ideal.  Constructing an elaborate fantasy.  I’m so pedestrian, I’m so much ugly nothing.  I’m putting little hearts everywhere but always through the glass.  There is no real connection anymore.  Lots of strangers out and about.  I know who I am.  But there in that dark location.  I have a drink in hand.  And it’s happening right in front of me, the perfect balance, never too far but always the maximum.  Or something.  I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying but wait yes I do.  Would your gaze fall upon me?  oh please let it be so, let it fall on me and you point to me and smile and start dancing my way.  And something lost and thrown.  Perfumed. 

To die under your gaze, he thinks.  To be eaten by you, to drown in your mouth, drown in your saliva, to be crushed between your teeth. 

Sweets now.  Sweets for the sweet but there is no place for that hear.  Any evil?  That’s me, I think.  No, I’m losing things again, gotta straighten myself out with another drink.  Disguises.  Cookies and cream.  Thick cake.  So many layers.  Pie.  Sheer sugar rush.  Dulces.  But how can I say this with the most appropriate applicable way possible.  There are answers on the great white album and I need to dig it out.  Can’t forget about the second component.  Bouquet.  In both senses here.  but I’ve run out of words again.  I need to figure it all out. 

Standing over me now.  And with so much precision…..  lowering me to the ground.  Tightly wrapped.  A sweet tender smile.  Maternal.  Painful and then gentle and back and forth back and forth.  Allowing breath just as much as absolutely necessary.   You’re telling me now that everything is okay everything is okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s all going to be okay.  But of course these words are not as I know them.  And continuing on.  (to me) “I’ve got you.”  Just going to sleep…don’t fight it…don’t struggle…only make it worse, let it happen.  Holding my trembling hand in one and with the other applying more and more but still with that tender and merciless expert precision.  And then it’s all out and dark.  Waking up later and laying on…looking up, laying on…thinking back to the chair….  And now with comfort stroking his hair and saying again that its okay and not to please not to resist so much next time.  what a lovely smile.  Then I am her footrest and then she eats me.  sweetest sin.  All going back to the same thing.  Oh please to die under your gaze.  Same desire.  Wanting to die in your arms.  Sugar.  Don’t you cry. 

Of course must give a bit of credit to JG here.  more than a bit.  And still more to the sweetmeats.  Confectionery heaven.  This sugar palace I have made my prison, how I adore. 

Man I love that neighborhood threat cover.  Must have listened to it 57 times in a row recently. 

even again (always waiting for the kiss)

I realized early on today (which is now likely yesterday) that I truly am the tomato based man.  Everything’s blurry again.  So rare for me to focus on the feeling afterward in terms of words.  Strong feelings of emptiness.  All my fault of course.  Re-purchases.  What had me today?  Of course it was the hunt for justice.  In pastels.  And fishnet pantyhose.  Always gets me in the end.  It’s not a question of willpower or all the other great phrases we throw out to cover the simple fact that we are weak and foul.  Sorry, I won’t include anyone else.  I am weak and foul.  I am the tomato based man (reminds me a bit of the words of a great great great man who once professed in one of my most cherished works that he is Ramona A. Stone.  Which reminds me that I’ve been listening to Iggy Pop’s 1981 album Party a lot these past few days and have been loving it.  I love Pop.  I also love the song All the Lovers and it’s a regular part of the…after buying the…which makes the heart race.  I also love indigo.  And the alien).  Yes, in those early hours all I wanted to do was watch The Vampire and the Ballerina, one of the sexiest movies I’ve ever seen.  I can remember the sweaty summer days. 

And of course this very morning I was also struggling with a lack of language knowledge.  For candy again.  Lovely new obsession and necessary muse.  Exactly what I…  hard to believe….  And across various platforms I could not be more blissfully disconnected and reveling in sin.  Transmitting across oceans.  The pleasure arrives much later one.  it originates in a spell and then traverses time to arrive at my fingertips.  I’m so full of shit.  What to comment?  What to say?  There’s no protocol.  The ankle on the tattoo.  “my father ran the prison.”  Apropos of nothing: I do so love the music of Scott Walker.  Ah that close proximity of Lodger to Nite Flights and then again with Outside to Tilt.  All so necessary.  More boiling heat.  And burning rubber and this music in the sun machine and by nightfall I was travelling that familiar road with the mystery man.  No, I am falling for candy now.  Not now, been that way for a very long while.  Branching off that first paragraph I need to read a bit more about Ivan as he contributed such a strong and memorable number.  I’ll always remember buying ink and paper in the morning and wanting to die (but in a depressing way).  And then learning you had moved on.  And I didn’t even know.  But that morning it was the only composition which made me feel good.  And then your iteration was beautiful.  And now wanting to die under candy’s gaze.  Wanting to die under the gaze of…black and white recently and pastel blue earlier one, sweet bouquet, if only I could discern everything inside, to die under your gaze, sweetest sin. 

And what really killed it.  Hosiery again.  And luchadoras.  Ah luchadoras, what has kept me willfully enslaved for a lifetime.  Now in white and in black.  Justice in white.  Seen before in the aforementioned pastels; teal and lavender, black turned to gold on top.  Justice.  Hunter.  Right to the middle.  Please afterward rest your feet on me, my face.  Let me breath in so deep.  Berate please.  Please berate.  On a deeper level I am truly awful.  Oh, I need to let it all out but don’t know how.  I am ugly and repulsive and a failure.  A real classic piece of shit.  My words fail me.  understand, words don’t fail me, MY words fail me.  fucking idiot.  That is me.  dumb fucking piece of shit.  I looked up and saw the Miles Davis album In a Silent Way was right there. I do so love that album.  I need to learn more, so much still escapes my understanding.  Pestilence in the air as the visual representation of my soul.

Ah, just a glance.  I see what happened now.  Mired in the corruption el fin del dia.  Not even necessary that little lapse right there.  lovely accented words somewhere through the waves.  Ah, the wonders of technology; inked captured through the plastic and then fingered while rubber burned and it was wrong at first but this most direct of signs was ignored for desire of sin and so it was tried again and reached and afterward the number 9 summed it all up.  Kept going and going and wouldn’t it be nice if it had simply been left to continue.  In person.  it was the phrasing of course.  Through this I could almost finally picture that lovely smile.  Why so much uncertainty?  Don’t you understand.  The magnificence.  Laughter while discussing the concrete.  We do it all for the concrete.  Even if you can never walk on it.  We can look at the concrete.  It will happen.  Everything changed, everything beautiful.  Perfect word.  What the hell is wrong with me.  acknowledgement by a big steaming pile of garbage hahaha!  On a related noted I’m something of a big steaming pile of shit.  It was the transparency again, up above.  Arms.  The familiarity.  Coupled with the black and white.  Seen through the…coming from soda…never realized the elegant simplicity of venetian.  It’s difficult to believe.  And then this one, descending but always so so so high above merged with justice, with pastels, the black turned to gold was just the right approximation and it all merged and it was all corruption and sin and evil and it was allowed to be released and then there was only emptiness which is all there ever is and all there ever will be. 

Forgot about that photo yesterday of the Little Star.  The most pretty.  But also the most….  Fell deeply in love all over again. 

Then I realized, if only I worked in a gas station I would understand. 

even

Been recaptured now, yes?  Sin recaptured.  To die in sweetest sin.  Dying beneath her gaze.  Evil flowers, need to read more.  The truth is I need to read more.  Remembering now a summer ago or was it two summers ago and frantically running.  Glorious.  Yes, escalators escalators escalators.  Its all recaptured now, white and fuschia, different from the first time around, still can’t get a word in edge wise, and braille again, and I think I remember all this great ultraviolet light and I think I should go to the doctor soon because I can barely see.  But senses so recently fully alive, in the center of this storm. 

Invited to like the Candy.  Don’t know if it’s good idea.  But don’t know if its bad idea.  Actually, not true.  Of course I know.  We always know.  And we do it anyway because we want know.  We love to.  Read the books (in black and white).  I’m going to show you how weak you are.  it’s right there.  to die in sweetest sin. Kidnapped soon.  Symbol of the scorpion there on the skin.  And lotus.  And there were elephants everywhere.  And the Virgin.  Everyone present and accounted for?  Noticing the blue, right?  Bright blue, powerful wonderful blue, hugging blue.  And black on top.  Deep black.  And that a galactic color right there.  tips. 

Everything comes in the magic numbers.  This glorious return of corruption.  What we were begging for.  Twice now…white and…can’t think of the word.  But sun drenched.  White and black underneath.  I know the style but can’t speak to it.  Loveliest smiles everywhere.  Yes, I see now, three and one, three real and one not but really all not.  Real isn’t quite the right word, is it?  So much illusory these days.  Descending endlessly.  The beginning of the regression.  Desire regression.  Yes and then decked all in black.  Glorious patterns.  Denier.  Top, underneath and over everything.  Over everything.  Try to lock this away.  Unwrapping down below.  To die for.  Simply to die for.  Glorious subjugation.  Glorious mercy.  What could be greater?  Surrender myself to sweetest sin and to die right there.  there is nothing left inside of me but sin.  Scratched all away and center is just crazed and ugly and without a shred of good. 

This is different from the woman in the mirror.  Another change while we’re all suspende din gaffa.  Dolphins again and that insane connection, while we swim again.  No words between us.  Great symbols of fear become equally powerful symbols of desire and like that we’re off and I’m forgetting everything I hold dear and surrendering to the glories of corruption and my soul is deteriorating.  There is no true loneliness anymore, all messages unnecessary.  Can’t even say this again, gatubella. 

Silly me, I’d forgotten how we are all like astronauts.  Oh these endless longings.  How can my pleadings for forgiveness be real and disingenuous at the same time?  the invitation.  Of course for the words to flow I need…something.  What sorts of groups, numbers I mean, did these come in in the classical canonical texts?  That would likely explain everything.  And nothing.  Of course the floodgates will be open again, the miles available once more.  The jackal who is not the jackal.  Dare he hope.  And everything will be ruin again.  Glorious ruin.  And the rhapsody in blue?  Ever again.  I am so so awful. 

That beauty I was affording things was most certainly not real.  Or let me specify.  Nothing coming from me was pure or beautiful.  Everything coming from me was impure and awful and ugly and corrupt.  Tainted.  My insides are rotten.  My soul is appalling.  I see now though…about running like a river.  The feeling.  Stolen away.  Kidnapped away.  The invitation.  Second invitation.  Doing what you know is wrong.  The feelings of freedom and elation and remembering…something.  Going back over and over again.  To finally escape, desperate to know what that feels like.  Desperate to wipe everything out, making everything crumble down.  destroy there and lie vacant in your sweetest sin.  No, that’s not how it would be either.  It’d be so meaningful.  So lovely.  So kind and warm and lovely.  He can’t tell what is real anymore.  More accurate, he can’t tell what is the grand self deception.  What I have always searched for.  Wants to believe in something.  Nights of the merciful. 

The desire to feel crazy again.  Everything delirious and out of control.  Believing there is still a chance at something.  The desire makes you dizzy.  You are an addict of self destruction. 

Gotta leave something for the night.  Morning brings no clarity.  Revisiting the old instigators in different languages.  All the different ways I can scream.  Electricity.  I should have been a bug man and then drink from my own supply.  It’s all a matter of perspective.  Too much Sugar lately.  Not really accurate but you, that is, I, know what I mean.  And always upon wake the dreams of death.  I see now the awful manipulations.  May fault.  Of course the modesty has me now.  And the persistent invitation.  Just waiting on more and more.  All in the senses, taken out of a tiny box.  They should just see me lying stiff and cold.  Perspective again.  Like a mob.  What was revisited was thrashed around.  All sorts of different ways to command that opening.  Massive steel arm.  Half feline again.  And orange and black and a massive cable.  And then bent and bent and stabbed, teeth grinding.  Lose and lose and lose, never learn, do you?  Ripped off and choked and dropped and fallen and crashed and out and left behind.  And this replicates itself and replicates itself and appears timid at first but it’s all an act.  A glorious act.  And the eventual undoing.  From two and then four different sides.  Punished. 

In a glorious dream Ana Barbara smiled at me and kissed me.  she was wearing red I believe. 

Jennifer was the body double for Meg.  Love it.  And loved it. 

all red bar and computers i never see and don't get the transactions, i am so empty like everythign else (and CIWI19 p. 3)

Lifeforce, I remember a very attractive woman and a strange kiss.  I remember this being surprisingly dull and thinking it should have been good. 

Showgirls is a movie I adore.  It’s a satirical deconstruction of the American dream.  Looks great too. 

High Flying Bird was a sports movie I really loved but then again I am a Soderbergh junkie and this fits right in with that fascinating string of film like Bubble, Girlfriend Experience and Haywire and other things I can’t remember but I’m sure I adored. 

Memories of Murder is one of my all time favorite movies.  So is Zodiac but I can see how much Fincher took from Memories. 

Get Shorty was good lark, nice Saturday early evening kind of movie.  I liked the book more but I still liked this movie.

At Eternity’s Gate is a lovely little movie.  Very very on the nose and that should bother me more but it didn’t, maybe because I’m too big of a willem fan. 

The Seven Samurai is something I need to rewatch.  It was difficult. 

Inglorious bastards  gets better every time I watch it.  My opinion has changed quite a bit since first viewing

Heavenly Creatures is my favorite peter Jackson film.  Is it the dividing line?  Still need to see the frighteners to know for sure.

After Hours was great.  I understand why it gets overshadowed by other work in the director’s oeuvre but this deserves more…something…can’t think right now, it deserves more something though. 

The Maltese Falcon I never quite understand but I like it.

The Big Sleep I didn’t understand but i…

The Scent of Green Papaya was lovely! Just bought Ciclo and need to check out everything by this guy and need to rewatch this with a scotch. 

Hostel is crap but that one scene still works. 

Fighting With My Family was good.  Basic tropes. Prefer Glow.  What a dumb comparison by me.  this was good.

Black Coal, Thin Ice was GREAT noir.  Gets better each time.  very subtle.  Very uncompromising.  Just watched wild goose lake too…but I think I’ll still prefer….

Who Framed Roger Rabbit  ihad never seen before. It had some top knotch animation.  And the always reliable gunton. No, stupid me I meant Hoskins.  My fingers are freezing up right now.  I really liked the first three fourths and not as much the last fourth but overall I dug it. 

Meet the Feebles totally worked for me, back when Jackson made movies I could endorse. 

Water is something for which my own ignorance betrayed but I need to understand deeper and explore further, both in and of itself and of the ouvre from the creator. 

Chasing lust now, eh.  Something like that.  Meeting at the open space, as predicted due to all the liquidity.  The issues of liquidity.  Though humorously it started off about a change, an augmentation not related to culinary arts.  And then progressed to liquidity.  Talking about bouquets the night before in old pages, how I wanted that bouquet.  A little joke, lovely smile.  Black and white during this iteration then frantically running out to meet and then closely observed ascension and then a return and so quick, need to absorb every detail.    

Old texts have me.  is it a coincidence just as 36 has me.  likely not.  There is not much else I’m sorry to say.  Other than that revelation about hotel rooms.  There is an encroaching distance.  Evil everywhere.  Look at how trite all that other stuff was.  I am in search of sin.  Never have to look far.  Candy again.  There’s no meaning to anything anymore.  Live and in living color.  Meat and potatoes style.  Twice in a row really.  The softest pair set aside for just such an occasion.  felt like crying while eating a granola bar today. 

Unexpected peace.  Remembrances.  Torn away by my own anger.  Listened to mad season last night and this morning, felt appropriate.  Johnny mysticism showed up to buy me a drink at some point.  I’m reading a very good book right now and it has a yellow cover. 

Ripley Under Ground is a great book.  Just great!  it was just so complete!  So fucking complete.  Loved the skull bit.  And the humor, really good humor, placation, new headlines.  I couldn’t call it.  Real elegant and precise prose.  Wish a proper movie was made of it (or that I could see the one that was).  I love Tom on the page so much.  This was just dark and comical little gem.  Man, I loved this book.  I need to acquire an old hardcover copy and read it outside during a sweaty summer, maybe while drinking a margarita even though I don’t really like margaritas. 

I missed my red circle chance years.  I FUCKING BLEW MY RED CIRCLE CHANCE BECAUSE I’M A GIGANTIC UGLY FUCKING LOSER WHO FUCKS EVERYTHING UP AND I REALLY REALLY REALLY FUCKING HATE MYSELF!      And it in some ways it is also blue, like staring down a barrel, and boy I just really fucked that up and now no red cirlce for me.  it’s like that glorious piece of gold rubber which will never be mine.  just as well.  Everything I touch turns to shit.

In love with candy bloom. 

I was drinking cheap vodka and watching a late 90’s Abel Ferrara movie recently.  Or was i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Trying to figure out this grainy phase.  Akin to the blackout.  Feels very honest, very cold.  I had a limp and then with a laugh I leaped from the stairwell, fatally cracking my dome like an egg when I hit the hard tiled corporate story floor.  Tech, need to try and reread, last time I was in a bar with a sports game on and couldn’t focus for some reason.  I miss bars.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I was to know.  Gonna listen to free soon, not the band.  Oh yeah, then I read swamp thing comic books.    

And yes and yeah it’s all empty now and nothing really has any feel to it I suppose it could be worse (blood).  I don’t  know, it all feels so meaningless.  And everything is fading, vision, hearing, whatever. 

I can’t figure anything out.  I have no voice.  36 has me.  lists have me.  back when I was using frog puppets to make my philosophical points.  Back when I was waking up on red sheets.  This river still reminds me of another river. 

sin because (and CIWI19 p. 2)

Of course in recent days I’ve been watching far too many Candy Bloom videos.  Or have I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  No, I definitely have.  Addiction is forming.  Have you read Naked Lunch?  Burroughs perfectly describes what its like…read the books.  Shame told me that.  It means shame, right?  That stranger I encountered on black and white new York streets.  Oh yes, but Candy Bloom, so wonderful, bountiful.  I would be your slave.  What’s the cost?  Anything!  Anything!  Anything for my face to be used as her footrest after a long hard night of burlesquing.  Oh, I am truly vile and putrid.  It hasn’t been all Bloom though, I’ve been breaking things up with luchadora videos, specifically barefoot ones (though not entirely bare, they’re still wearing hosiery!  Oh God what is wrong with me?!  Denier!  Denier!  Their soles crushing my face after a good match is perfume of the gods!  I’m awful! Awful!)  Just choke me out using the hosiery clad crook of your knee!  Please!  Oh man, I need help.  And now remembering the one of ice.  Yes, seeing now as never before, black lace and nylons and heels.  And of course, must admit, must mention, celestial.  Something celestial.not given the proper respect for so long.  Even though an integral part in one of my favorites.  Played to a t.  jobber  expert jobber.  And then so recent.  Entwined.  And then like that.  See, total underestimation.  Couldn’t handle a viewing. Deep in the throes.  Luchadoras have me.  countless hours.  The look of the hosiery after the match has gone on for 10 minutes or so.  Oh, sweet denier.  Oh heaven scent aromas…if only.  The icy one again, loving when I scream.  Stand and strangle me with your hosiery clad ankles. Why  no response?  I missed it today!  I fucking missed it!  I was watching so close and I fucking missed the only worthwhile opportunity of the miserable fucking day! but then coffee made me feel better.  Fishnets have me. 

I’m reading a couple books right now, liking one and loving the other.  The one I’m loving has 8 or so sequels.  I think I’ll purchase them as well.  Oh yes, make no mistake, I still hate myself.  More than ever.  I am by far my least favorite person.  it’s hard to imagine that ever changing. 

Gotti was utterly delightful!  Great makeup job too.  The Miami Vice pilot (feature length, 96 minutes) was great Mann art.  I am currently enjoying the series very much and am reminded at how in many ways I prefer older shows to contemporary ones.  I remember really liking If Beale Street Could Talk when I first watched it and thinking it was also a beautiful looking film and I would like to see it again but I guess it didn’t stick with me as something major.  This and Moonlight both seemed a bit too calculated and carefully crafted, very well made but just too overworked to be truly moving for yours falsely.  Madeline’s Madeline was of the real avant-garde stripe but as such was a stellar example, stuck in my diseased brain.  Need to buy it and have it on every night.  Speaking of, I loved Aquaman on first watch (during which I was wearing an orange shirt and after the viewing I texted a friend and told her I was wearing an orange shirt) and my fondness has since continued to grow.  It’s a comfort food type of movie for me, lot of good cheese, well filmed action.  Polar was a shameless John Wick ripoff (I don’t care if the comic came before that great franchise) but was still salvable due to the game performance of Mads Mikkelsen and some gritty action.  I loved Cam.  Great viewing on a Thursday or Friday night, seems appropriate for this age and I liked the unexplained tinge of supernatural, one I’ll definitely watch many more times.  The Favourite was pretty damn impeccable and my favorite so far from the director!  In many ways 2019 was the year of the cute bunnies.  I love the fisheyed things.  probably not the right term but I’m an idiot.  Need to buy this one.  hahahaha I loved Serenity and will tell everyone I come into contact with to watch it!  The sheer audacity!  I need a fishfinder.  It’ll make a perfect double bill with another movie coming up here.  I fucking loved Serenity!  At many points I watched the Suspiria remake last year.  Diligent readers may recall its spot at number 2 on my favorite movies of 2018 list.  It still continues to entrance, befuddle, and fascinate me.  I think about and obsess over it for at least 9 hours of every day.  Bumblebee was another movie I loved!  I guess I’m just full of love today!  It had a lot of color!  A lot of heart!  A lot of great music!  A really strong and charismatic lead performance!  And the transformers actually looked like themselves! And damnit, I loved Velvet Buzzsaw too!  Really hilarious in parts.  The horror elements didn’t really work but I appreciated the ambition and novel setting and so I can overlook that!  Memorable says I! Saturday Night Fever is a deserved classic.  Has some unexpected topicality to it.  Travolta is in his element.  Still holds up.  Still works.  Muriel’s Wedding a little gem more people should seek out.  Toni Collette never disappoints.  This is a Saturday night movie for me.  Kill Bill Volume 2…eh, I liked it more than part 1 but I still don’t like either of these movies and they are by far the worst things Tarantino’s ever done in my opinion.  Go watch the movies these two reference but skip these two themselves.

Whiskey in hand. I am the face of failure.  Destroying me.  I am destroying me.  read the books.  So useless.  I am so utterly useless.  All for nothing.  Controlled by my big nothing.   And right now it’s all being recalibrated to start all over again.  To take control all over again.  But I have no one else to blame.  That ugly awful thing regularly seizing control is just my true self. 

I really love the movie Swamp Thing.