1,017

Where is my soft machine, I screamed out from my position of ultimate non power!  And now there is a truck pulling up.  There were frightening noises coming from beneath the floor last night.  I downed another shot or two of whiskey and/or vodka in order to calm my jangled.  I watched 3 James Bond movies over the weekend.  The one I liked the most was Octopussy and I reckon that is a great and zany adventure film.  It really worked for me!  It really fired on all cylinders!  I was drinking a jar of pasta sauce last night. 

On the verge of tears for most of the morning and something like a tension headache keeps building.  I have failed.  At what, he asks.  I have failed at everything.  I have failed at life.  I’m a loser, an utter failure.  No one else to blame but myself and there is some odd comfort in that.  I began writing a letter to someone I never see anymore and will likely never see again.  Touch of therapy, eh. 

So much banality.  I’m tempted to throw up in my hands and then drink it.  All my fault.  All this banality comes from me.  Forced to talk to people again.  Just listen to these instructions, all so fucking meaningless.  Oh how we desperately to the little pieces of nothing we carve out. 

You are going to be so sorry one day for the way you treated us.  You don’t got nothing to say that I wanna hear.  Just shut up!  I hope your fucking happy for this fucking mood you put me in.  why are you so stupid?  Goddamnit!  I can talk to you however the hell I want.  Sit down and take it.  You wouldn’t have made it.  Sneeze.  Don’t be rude!  You will be out of my life forever.  All he wants is someone to cook and clean up after him.  All you want is someone to take you places and buy you things.  With that attitude.  You can all just go to hell.  GODDAMNIT!!!  I will blame you for the rest of your life.  14! 14! Grow up, they’re not your family.  (wanted to show him the diary pages).  You can go live with her whenever you want. Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Rude.  Inconsiderate.  Ungrateful.  “I’m sorry.”  Lately you’ve bene saying a lot of things you should be sorry for.  You will be out of my life forever.  Silence now, silence, silence, silence (though happiness around others).  Other kids would die to have this.  You don’t got nothing to say that I want to hear.  Silence for many days.  GODDAMNIT!!!  Don’t be surprised if one of these days I just leave.  Go tell him what happened with the phone conversation. Are you going to deny God? 

It occurred to me then that I need to invest in my own Word Hoard.  This is the key to everything.  I keep a copy of The Soft Machine with me wherever I go.  Back in my high school I used to throw pants-shitting parties!  They were all the rage.  We’d all gather around, swap stories and just literally shit our pants.  I need to bring these parties back, reunite the old gang.  My copy of the soft machine has a pink cover.  I would love to spend hundreds of dollars and obtain a first edition copy. Then one day when I turn into a vampire I’ll find a pretty freshly turned vampire and offer to lend her my copy.  My favorite pens are the Pilot Precise V7 RT.  I order them by the baker’s dozen, always in rich blue.  Speaking of blue, I need to buy a copy of Perfect Blue.  I’ve been watching Ju-On Origins on Netflix recently.  That is, when I’m not crying, bitching, pissing and moaning about how worthless I am (but there’s an extra layer of comedy there because I really am all those things).  

I’m excited that Kylie Minogue is set to release a new DISCO themed album in November and look forward to hearing the new single this coming Friday! 

The greatest thing, the ultimate goal, would be able to write something as pure as Detonate by Charli XCX and/or as lovely as Ce N’est Pas Un Reve by Francoise Hardy.  I can live inside those songs and temporarily not want to die.  Something like Bowie’s Outside album.  Pieces of my worthless soul and disgusting heart hide in there and for blissful moments receive solace. 

I’ve begun writing letters to someone with whom I’ll likely never speak with again.  It’s comforting in the short term.  “I love working with you.”  Are there any dreams left?  Words are leaving me behind in this worthless place I have created.  Fear I may have no more viable constructs left.  

Something I’ve mentioned in all of this crap reminds me of the lovely Scott 3.  Of this, I need more of.  It was the 19^th anniversary of JP3 the other day.  I remember the first time I ever saw it. Kinda harkens back to something written earlier.  And the first few Amaral records.  I’m reminded of those by Francoise.  As I approach this loveliness, I feel ever more terrible.  I realize that booze helps stave off these terrible feelings.  I continue to take some measure of comfort in that I only have myself to blame. Sion Sono is also inspiring.  Ugly things feel very true.  I miss you.  I realize now the hypocrisy present in those blocks of time. Yet so much comes down to money.  I miss talking.  But there was so much that was illusory, correct?  I imagined most of it.  And it still came true anyway, haha.  Maybe this agent can help me for awhile in those blissful moments when I am about to fall asleep and in those caustic, awful moments when I first wake up and realize I am still me. 

She was singing to me in my dreams the other night. 

I need to read the book Rebecca.  I am woefully not well read. 

The Spy Who Loved Me is such a lovely film. 

incomplete dull crap

Another merry day of failure is before me.  I love the bass line to atmosphere.  My construct is utterly failing me.  Hot tears in my eyes.  I don’t even know what my construct is anymore.  Italy has abandoned me.  Everywhere has.  Maybe I can find some comfort in the dulcet tones of the French language.  I should have had a second cup of coffee.  Quick, someone get me a bottle of sleeping pills that I may down them all.  I think I’m going to order a tom Clancy book on ebay and an Elizabeth hand book.  Strange how the moon keeps beckoning to me.  I wonder if that is the reason for my lack of sleep lately.  Or it could just be the weight of my innumerable personal failures causing unrest.  Hard to talk to anyone.  Hard to look at them.  So much grotesquery around me.  And me the foul rotting center of it all.  Last night bad.  No interest.  No active engagement.  Oh God, someone get me a bottle of something.  Man, I love jack kirby’s artwork.  The pages can barely contain the energy in his lines!  I’ve been reading Galilee by Clive Barker lately.  I find it to be increasingly engrossing with many quite lovely and inspirational passages.  It’s been one of my only legitimate escapes these days.  Thanks Clive.  Because all muses have left me.  I have no solace anymore.  Too many drones.  Lets all be happy about devoting our lives to things that don’t matter!  Brilliant! As long as we’re fucking though.  Pleasures of the flesh make up for everything.  I treasure rationalizations.  Tears now.  Tears again. Cradle him in your arms.  Cradle him in your arms.  There is no one to do that anymore.  I just noticed I’m wearing a blue shirt today. My head hurts over how empty everything is and over how useless I am.  I was talking to people recently and it felt awful.  I hate talking to people.  Wish everyone would just leave me the fuck alone.  I sometimes think it would be quite comforting to wear a mask all the time.  I put on a big smile though.  My voice sounds funny.  My smile feels weird today like my mouth keeps shaking.  I love the smell of fresh paint.  I love the idea of mudding walls before painting them.  I love the word mud.  I loved the hbo Watchmen show.  Great stuff.  And Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross’s score was superb.  I purchased all 3 albums.  I feel like I’m swirling black hole of negative energy.  I know that doesn’t make sense but its how I feel.  I need a Xanax.  Anyone have any pills I can pop?!  Blame it on the rain.  I’ve been watching the Picard series too, I have one episode left.  Has something gone chemically wrong with my insides?  Is that why I feel so bad?  I can’t see very well right now.  I think I’m going to eat a granola bar soon. 

I think what follows is a collection of random thoughts and/or memories:

I remember encountering a love woman last week.  Tattooed, bejeweled, black hair, colorful shirt, jeans.  Caring for the sheep.  She was devastatingly beautiful.  The encounter made me so happy but I can’t feel any of that happiness right now.  I remember every detail but it doesn’t make feel anything except bad.  There is a foul taste in my mouth too.  My face wants to constrict.  Why can’t I glean any happiness from this pleasant encounter?  I don’t even feel desire.  All good things have left me. 

I don’t like absolute editions because they are too unwieldy and uncomfortable to read but for an instant I was sorely tempted by the absolute fourth world volume 1. 

A guillotine kind of looks like an hourglass. 

I need to buy some Miracleman comic books.  I’m starting a Clive Barker book today but I actually already have (see up top). 

Ah, the eschaton.  I need to learn more, make predictions.  The super Sargasso sea.  We’re all damned.  I need to buy three old books and find that hidden knowledge.  Old books have so much hidden and valuable knowledge. 

I love the Miami Vice movie.  I’m watching part of it right now.  I think I was happy in that moment.

And for a brief span of time Coralie made me happy.  I was reminded of running to expel the sense of giddy temptation.  There was true loveliness…when?  2 years ago I think.  Cream and cranberry.  Too afraid to go down the stairs.  Ice cream and coffee.  There was meaning amidst all the banality.  Swimming at night, safety and comfort in the center of a storm. 

Thinking of this…calm comes over me for a few seconds but quickly disappears.  everything good has left me.  I went to be unusually early last night because it just doesn’t pay to be awake sometimes.  doesn’t put bread on the table. 

I ate a turkey and swiss on wheat bread sandwich yesterday.  It satisfied my hunger.  I drank water with this sandwich. 

Breaking my own rules here cause I don’t have much else to say. It’d all be repetition.  just can't write anymore, all meaningless shit anyway. Oh, the photo of Chiquibaby on Instagram this morning was cute.  

nother week like last no company want

Bricks of viscera

I’m nothing if not a failure.  Man I have severely messed it all up.  I’ve a made a mess of being me.  I fucking hate myself so much.  Head hurts really bad right now.  Just gotta put on a happy face.  Complain about laundry.  I loved brushed nickel.  Muses fail me.  They no longer speak to me.  I fail them.  Toxic air in my head.  Robert james lees – where have all the good psychics gone?  Need that neal adams superman trade.  I’m enjoying val kilmer’s memoir.  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?  I only feel bad when I have to look at or talk to someone.

I like Helen’s performance (in the suit) a lot but man, Supergirl is a terrible movie.  Or is it?!  The more I learn the less I want to know.  I’m going to a store later one.  I hate myself so much.  I received a box of new pens over the new weekend.  It was easily the highlight of my worthless and wasted life.  My fault for being so useless.  These pens write like a dream though.  Brass is nice and all but nothing locks like brushed nickel!  I felt good the other day while listening to the Aladdin Sane album.  Love Panic in Detroit.  Italian thighs.  Glamour.  Atomic angel in white nylons. 

I am listening to Ray of Light roughly 40 minutes.  I’m betting someone lunch a few minutes, having doubts.  Ray of Light is one of those albums you can just live in.  I did live in it for awhile.  It’s five years ago and I’m listening to it in a dry enclosed space alongside someone who has a sexually transmitted disease.  We’re laughing at the randomness of life.  Last night I’m haunted by…how I made it all up.  I made it all up, I invented.  Pure fabrication.  But it all came true anyway.  That’s the most haunting thing.  I made it up but it all came true anyway.  What the fuck does that mean?  What forces are at work, behind the scenes and pulling all the strings.  I’m a puppetman. 

None of the old familiar things really work anymore. That’s what I recently realized.  I’ve become unresponsive to everything.  Curious.  I feel so lightheaded this morning.  I’m watching a Cronenberg movie.  It is slowly drawing me in.  I love Cronenberg. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about adepts and secret societies.  Cryptogovernments as well.  I think there is a hidden truth.  Sometimes I think I’m so close to seeing it.  The mysterious occurrences at Point Pleasant.  Was this demonic activity at work?  Interdimensional contact?  Extraterrestrial in origin.  All or none of the above?  I’m slowly become ever immersed and ever more terrified by the apparently thin fabric of reality.  There were Egyptian priests and plane geometry.  I noticed a book about a goddess this morning.  What are the dangers of knowledge?  Did I not say yesterday that we can only learn so much and live?  Again, not my words.  Thank you, Tom.  But Alan is the one doing the preaching of sorts currently.  But I am Alan, that is, I was Alan.  Again, I made it up but it all came true.  The true destruction of personality and identity is the only logical recourse.  I am thirsty I realize.  True and deadly knowledge is kept secret. 

Tomorrow I’m going to order a big fat collection of Silver Surfer comic books!  I’m also going to mail a package, buy booze, and visit the Catholic bookstore.  If I have any guts at all I’ll promptly throw myself into the river soon thereafter.  I’m curious if the local bridge is high enough to break the necessary when I hit the water!  This river reminds me of another river.  I think there’s somewhere else I want to go but I’ve forgotten.  Ah, now I remember.  I need to go to a retail store to purchase something.  I’ll probably stop somewhere for coffee too. 

Fulcanelli is somewhere lurking between the pages.  The quest for the philosopher’s stone; I wonder if true nobility exists in this modern age.  Immortality.  Is there horror in this?  What rituals have been kept secret.  Who comes looking for you once you open the door?  All sinister things are always more than willing to meet you halfway.  At least. 

Zone fusion and heavy water.  I personally still use mercury in all my experiments.  I’d never before considered transmitting through architecture. 

The ending of The Breakfast Club just made me burst into tears as it always does.  I love this film.  It is perfect.  I ordered some pens that are arriving tomorrow.  It is the only positivity I’ve felt this week. I just remembered how much I love the Prince album Lovesexy!  What a beautiful spiritual masterpiece!  I think I’m listening to it 7 hours from now. 

Selene, the moon goddess.  I may be buying some books about a goddess.  Have I mentioned that already?  I already own several.  Call it research. 

And then…just a bit ago, now, later, part of the construct.  The wind carried her perfume.  A gentle smile.  Please, let me feel something.  What has happened to my emotions?  Why can’t I feel anything anymore?  All desire has left me.  It used to trouble me.  It no longer does.  It is curious though. 

I love the song Dear Michelangelo, the Sheila E. version and the Prince version.  But which is the original?!  Its actually accurate to say they are both the original!  Isn’t that crazy?!  Another song I love is Pumpin’ For Jill.  A movie I love is Beatriz at Dinner. Taking a break from magic for a while.  Can’t get the text about the moon because I’m temporarily out of foreign currency. 

She’s got a smile like salvation. Hearing something like that while driving around now no wait it was actually a few days ago.  Ugh, I’m so useless.  I’m drinking water and chewing gum.  I’m starting to read a new book.  The band was called the pinks or something.  I am shit.