The Muppets: Pig Girls Don't Cry (Pilot) episode review

I write this in the present tense to give it more urgency; just one of many experiments I conduct with prose, such is the nature of a wordsmith.  

I pour myself a shot of El Jimador Silver tequila which I purchased from the corner gas station earlier that afternoon.  I know I bought the shot glass at an airport and even though I cannot recall which I am reasonably certain I ate fried chicken there along with a few French fries and some lemonade.  There was a delightful stewardess on my flight who was celebrating her birthday and I wished her many happy returns with genuine affection.  She was a dark curvaceous woman squeezed into a navy blue skirt and flesh colored pantyhose.  At the time I wondered how aromatic her feet would be after a long hard day of flying but knew I would never be granted the privilege of finding out.  Note that I opt to use the word “stewardess” instead of “flight attendant” as I am in something of a male chauvinist pig mood right now.  I recall with numbing clarity a young feminist I knew in the days of yore that once put on a seminar teaching men how to properly use their penis.  I was unable to attend and I will forever regret this because even all these many years later I still have no idea how to use mine.  I sometimes wonder where that well-spoken and sometimes unshaven feminist went to though I suspect I will never fully have the answers I so desperately seek.  We can only learn so much and live, isn’t that right Thomas?  You are a wiser man than I by far.  

I sit down on my bourgeois sofa after preparing a vodka on the rocks and I turn the channel to ABC HD.  I often feel those who do not take advantage of HD channels do not deserve to live.  The first thing I see is a commercial for the American game of football which I have always found dreadfully boring.  Then there is an advertisement for a local news program.  

The show opens up with Kermit and I am immediately filled with delight by his appearance and voice.  I have been a fan of Kermit since an early age.  The first joke plays well which is a good sign.  I’m not a huge fan of the title credits but that is an easy thing to get over.  Or is it?

The post opening credits scene is pure delight, I am seeing these old friends again.  I look away briefly at the red stains on my walls.  Spaghetti sauce?  Wine?  Blood?  I can’t remember at this point but I detect no strange smells so I suppose it doesn’t matter too much.  The “meeting” joke with the band is the first slightly racy thing here.  I love it though.  I laugh out loud with the best of them.  Walter the Eagle always terrified me as a child but now I can handle him.  I would like to have a drink with Kermit.  I wish I could be his friend.

Gonzo’s first gag is great, just fucking perfect as the kids like to say.  I rewind and watch it 11 times because I love it so (why don’t you just commit suicide already).  The old guys never get old.  “It’s too late for me, save yourself,” says Kermit, great line, he sells it with aplomb and I really get the sense these are seasoned pros who know how to sell comedy, know what style suits them and have been together so long they can write these bits in their sleep and they’ll still turn out great.  Talk to God…there is some great subtle humor here.  I think most can relate to Kermit’s sentiments regarding Miss Piggy and the reasons their relationship ultimately failed.  My life is generic trash.  

Suddenly the most ironic thing I’ve ever experienced happens as they announce Elizabeth Banks is tonight’s special guest.  Savvy readers immediately recall I only just watched her in the Brian Wilson sort-of biopic Love & Mercy.  I throw my shoes across the room, scratch my forehead hard enough to draw blood (not a lot thankfully) and laugh uncontrollably at this strange occurrence for roughly four minutes before I down the rest of the vodka and pour myself a glass of warm white wine.  

I am not a huge Fozzie fan, never have been.  But I don’t mind him.  We have a strange relationship ship ship.  The first commercial break hits and I immediately see an ad that I think has some new pop stars whom I don’t recognize because I’m stupid.  Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just end it all, save the world a lot of grief.  What follows is an ad for Target and I immediately recognize the utterly gorgeous model Denise Bidot.  I am madly in love with her and I write her a letter for every day we are apart.  I have no interest in Hotel Transylvania 2 but I don’t begrudge anyone for wanting to see it.  I need to learn more at Pheonix.edu and maybe finally complete my education.  I’ve never had my nose done and I don’t know why this thought occurs to me at this very moment.  Actually, I do know why but I’m far too sheepish to cop to it.  People in this town are too hard on cops.  God I hate people so much.  Another Target ad starts and there is Denise Bidot again, I think from now I will write her 2 letters for each day we are apart.  She is stunning, I can’t get over it.  She makes me feel like I’m swimming in a lake of fire even though that analogy makes no sense given what I’m talking about.  I love Target; I bought soap – liquid and bar – there yesterday along with a pack of Topps Series Two 2015 Baseball cards.  I still don’t have a Coco Crisp or a Billy Butler.  What the fuck is wrong with me?!  I’m not going to watch Fresh of the Boat or the Middle or the Goldbergs or Modern Family or Blackish.  I hate comedy.  

Kermit is talking to Tom Bergeron, amiable co-host of Dancing With the Stars.  He’s got a lot of natural charisma.  Kermit’s diss to Scooter about Bergeron is great.  Nice cross pollination by ABC here.  Fozzie’s story interests me the least about this episode.  The jokes only fly about 50% of the time.  By calling so much attention to the fact that he’s a bear it begs the question why similar occurrences don’t happen with the other Muppets all day long.  It’s a can of worms.  I can’t tell if he’s growing on me.  

The stuff in the writer’s room is classic.  Oh how I love Gonzo and Rizzo.  I am filled with happiness right now.  Kermit’s new girlfriend Denise is interesting, more subdued than Miss Piggy though he definitely has a type.  I am not funny or successful.  Why do I even exist?  Is it just to be a worthless failure?  My name is Renee.  If I told you my name is Alice, I’m lying.  Fozzie’s phone call to Piggy is good though, that definitely plays.  I’m eating granola and raisins right now.  I swear anyone and everyone has great chemistry with Kermit, he’s just such a pro and natural that he brings the best out of everyone.  I forgot Elizabeth Banks is in the Hunger Games.  This new subgenre of teenagers in mean worlds doing heroic things does not appeal to me, I’m sorry.  Just end it already.  No one loves you.  END IT END IT END IT END IT END IT

Goosebumps looks like utter garbage, doesn’t it?  I think I read the first 60 book or so in the series.  I’ll probably be there opening night, stone drunk and having not showered in days.  I love milk, this commercial is right, milk is great.  Some commercial about mortgage stuff, buying houses is so dull but there’s some kind of Muppet thing here.  I love all types of Spaghetti sauce.  Who is that voice that keeps whispering from the fireplace?  I don’t like comedy. Agents of Shield looks sufficiently blah.  The eyes are the window to the soul.  So what does it mean if one gouges out his or her own eyes?  This question occurs to me at least once a minute.  

Back at last!  Please more Rizzo and more flirtatious Rizzo!  Perfection!  Animal is always a delight.  Kermit’s reaction when Banks shows up early, wanting to see Piggy, this is brillian frog timing.  The entire scene with Banks and Scooter is a highlight of the episode.  Scooter is sometimes underrated because his performances are often not as flashy but he spins comedic gold here and Banks plays off him with zeal.  I see Imagine Dragons and I almost fly into a rage and slice my ears off because I do not like this band at all.  But they seem like nice guys I suppose.  Rizzo again!  Yes!  Please give me more.  I don’t understand some of the fan reactions, I am loving this program.  It is far better than my life.  

The ultimate revelation of Miss Piggy’s problems with Banks and the footage of the breakup between her and Kermit is heart wrenching and surprisingly realistic and relatable.  I did notice Kermit putting on a bit of weight as was mentioned toward the end of the episode but hell, haven’t we all?  

Aflac, Pan, children’s hospital, whatever.  I space out during the performance by Imagine Dragons.  I switch over the Athletics/Rangers game and watch two hours of my team blowing a great lead (but with great aplomb, that last inning gave me just enough hope that it sweetly stung when it all went up in smoke).

I will say someone would have to be a deeply psychotic PC nutjob freak of nature to be upset by any of the humor in this show, at least in this episode; maybe upcoming episode will showcase S&M torture scenes, heroin addictions, gang violence, gang rapes and incestuous proclivities.  I also say that this is no racier than the original Muppets Show which I viewed every week back in the seventies with a smile and fresh bruises on my face.  I liked to watch the show before starting fires.  

This has done its job very well as a first episode, establishing our characters, setting up arcs, letting us know the formula.  A few things don’t fly and I’m not sure for how long this format can successfully work but I am pleased so far.  If I am still here I am going to happily come back next week to watch more, such is the nature of wisdom.  

253.7/295

It's dialectic physics!

At long last, after days of delays, I was finally able to finish Brian De Palma’s 2002 feature Femme Fatale.  It’s far too early to say this with any degree of certainty but this may fall on my list of favorite films of the first decade of the aughts (or however it’s spelt, the 00’s).  Will it gain a much coveted position in the hallowed top 10 of that decade?  Only time and at least 59 more viewings will tell for sure.  It’s been a strange and surreal journey with me when it comes to DePalma.  As a child I hated the man and his Hitchcock cribbing and flamboyance but now as an older gent I find myself loving his stylistic choices and the wonderfully idiosyncratic nature of his work.  I recently purchased 9 additional feature films of his and I look forward to viewing them in rapid succession while also hastily jotting down (suicide) notes that I may further investigate his technique.  

So the new Muppets show premieres tonight at 8:00 PM on ABC and I’m so excited I think I’ll drink a bottle of wine (with a bottle of sleeping pills) before it starts!  Truth be told, I’ve been a lifelong Muppets fan and though I have severe doubts over this show’s longevity I have made a sacred vow to stay with it whether it lasts for one episode or one billion.  

Still, the program is already the source of some controversy as an offshoot group of the American Family Association who go by the sinister and sexy moniker One Million Moms is currently boycotting the show.  They are concerned that parents may unknowingly allow their children to watch this show believing it is appropriate for youngsters only to see the tykes transformed into raving lunatics, rapists and serial murderers when they discover the show actually has a bit of crass (for Muppets) humor.  In short, it’s basically another worthless group of folks with too much time on their hands complaining about whatever in a foolish attempt to fill the emptiness in their feeble lives.  I maintain it is the parents responsibility to monitor this sort of thing – especially when letting their kids watch something in a primetime slot – but naturally there exists countless parents who are lazy sacks of shit who don’t actually giving a flying fuck about their kids (who will grow up to be just as useless) but I guess personal responsibility means nothing and that is why we have such asinine groups as this whose boycotting will rightly accomplish absolutely nothing.  I’m thinking about joining this group though because I know their intent is just and their heart pure.  It’s a societal thing where all sides are damaged.  I’m even worse though!  I have nothing better to do but right about them.  They’ve already won.  I lose (just end it already). 

I will say that I love mothers and if these one million have so much free time on their hands I invite them to my posh flat for a night of mirth of frivolity!  Now that it is Halloween they should all go purchase Wonder Woman and Catwoman costumes, throw in some nurse and demon costumes too along with countless pairs of RHT pantyhose and high heel shoes (the hosiery and shoes should be worn for at least a day before coming to see me) which can be purchased at any local conglomerate.   I will provide the dialogue and scenarios and we will have a grand time up until the moment I weep uncontrollably for my chronic impotency (no one loves you).  

I spent a decent chunk of a recent afternoon watching Apocalypse Now Redux followed by the classic theatrical cut of the same film.  After years of deliberation I safely conclude that the original is the superior cut.  Dennis Hopper is still my favorite part of the thousand different versions.  I love his work.  He is so incredible!!!

Through the wonders of technology I was recently able to listen to the new Amaral song Llevame Muy Lejos. It’s a driving rocker and another I will blast out of my woefully inadequate car speakers while patrolling the mean streets.  The lyrical content pleases me on this track and I can strongly relate to many of the sentiments (I’m always a sucker for anything related to parallel dimensions).  Perhaps most joyous of all for me was the tune’s extended coda which is beautiful and daring.  I eagerly anticipate their new album and plan on buying 9 copies.  

I recently saw Black Mass and though I was delighted to see Johnny Depp do something other than what he’s been doing for the past decade or so I must say the movie itself was not quite the modern classic many were hoping for.  It was a fine film but I felt it lacked focus, neither working as a cold and detailed procedural a la Zodiac or as a stoney gangster flick like Goodfellas.  Thinking back to it now I would be hard-pressed to isolate any performance or scene as great and that definitely makes it a disappointment for yours truly.  I assume it didn’t help matters that I arrived at the multiplex fall-down drunk (or maybe it did!).  

I’ve been listening a great deal to Mos Def’s 1999 album Black on Both Sides these past few tortuous days.  More than a decade and a half later the stuttering jazz beats and Def’s stuttering flow remains every bit as effective as when this disc first dropped on an unexpected and doomed world.  Oh how I thirst for intelligent rap and hip hop and how infrequently my thirst is quenched.  

I recently watched Love & Mercy, the sort of biopic on the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson starring Paul Dano and John Cusack as the musical maestro.  I feel content in saying the movie was able to overcome many (but not all!) of the usual trappings of the dull and dreaded biopics that are dumped on us each year.  I would give it a hearty recommend and plan on watching it every morning before watching Lane Bryant fashion show videos on YouTube (Good Lord Ashley Graham, you give me a thousand heart attacks in a row!  My love for you makes me weep!).  

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the B Boys 1966 album Pet Sounds is a gorgeous piece of work and the flick captures with great sun-drenched beauty compelling composites of its curious cornucopia cacophony and at turns chaotic, caustic and canny creation.  I will say this however: I am sick to death of Paul Giamatti and maybe I’m complete jerk but I do not see the greatness so many ascribe to him.  I just don’t see it!  I never want to see him in another movie for the rest of my miserable worthless life!  But yeah, everyone should buy Pet Sounds but I know many will never give it a chance cause they’re dumb.  I feel sorry for those who limit themselves; I look down on them with my upper lip curled up in disgust.  “Trolls,” as my idol Charlie Sheen would say.

  
Well, I’m off to buy some soap – both bar and liquid – now and then I’ll have a quick session with my psychic Miss Cleo!  I’ll see you all in the funny pages!

From the diary of John Z. Wilson, July 9, 2002

Dear diary,

I am a bad and selfish person.  Someone told me this and I’ve done my best to erase it out of my mind because the person who said this to me is someone from whom I never wanted to hear these words.  

But I stopped and considered things and realized how right they are.  I am no longer capable of kindness of empathy.  Everything that everybody says or does sends me into a fury.  I love going to sleep at night.  Mornings are always the worst part of everyday but honestly any moment that I’m awake is the worst part of everyday.  I have not thought about any family or friends in quite some time, it’s difficult to remember when I considered them at all. I want to eat myself. I want to cut off little parts of my body and eat them.  

I just re-read those words and they sound so ridiculous.  I can’t parse anything out anymore. I can’t make sense of anything.  I can’t even explain my meaninglessness or the constant searing hatred I feel.  Do we even know anybody anymore?  I don’t think I’ve been faithful to anyone a single day in my life.  I am the biggest hypocrite I have ever known so why can’t everyone see it?  I need something inside of me at every moment to make me feel better.  I tried talking to you but that didn’t work because I don’t think you wanted to listen to me.  I lied awake all night so many nights and tried talking to you but I never once received a reply.  I have everyone I’ve ever known and i told you things I never should and my feelings were laid bare and they were scary ugly disgusting things and no one ever should have seen those.  Why can I never control myself, not once?

I learned this all from mommy and daddy but I can’t blame them anymore.  What I do and what I have done is not their fault and it never was.  And it’s all right there in that red book so it doesn’t really make any sort of difference now anyway.  They should have been nicer to me though.  They should have pretended they loved me then maybe this awful thing wouldn’t have grown inside of me.

I feel so dizzy all the time and I think I reached inside and everything was awful.   It only comes around once a year yet I was still able to fuck it up in the most grandiose fashion.  You hate me now like everyone else.  I think I’m done with everything now. I’ve fucked up enough thank you very much, time to cash in my chips.  

I’ve long kicked around the idea of suicide in my head and all the different ways I could make this happen.  The image of my lifeless body hanging from the ceiling is a particularly compelling one.  I especially like the idea of leaving my window open and my bloated corpse perhaps swaying back and forth a bit if it’s a windy day.  I have an abundance of neck ties in all sorts of colors that I never use and it seems possible to fashion something that would support my weight.  

There’s also the classic of just buying a gun and blowing my brains out.  I like to imagine how the wall would look behind me.  Maybe there would be something artistic about my blood and brain matter splattering against the wall, sort of like an abstract painting.  And again, the window.  It would be sort of neat if flies got in and were getting stuck in my blood as it became more like syrup.  My diseased brain seems to be the center of all the problems I cause so in a way it makes sense for it to sustain the most punishment.  A giant hole would certainly prevent future complications.  I wonder if I would stick the barrel in my mouth or against my temple or under my chin?  I think the mouth is probably my preferred option as the phallic symbolism is somewhat amusing.  Plus, taste is such a fine sense and it would be nice to really feel the physical instrument of my destruction in that way, it would be more intimate, an oily metallic taste would not be so bad as the last taste, would it?

Cutting is too harsh, I’ve never been good with knives and what if I didn’t go deep enough and passed out beforehand or something silly like that?  A bottle of pills and a bottle of wine is maybe too soft, too clean.  

Oh but I do so absolutely love the idea of finding the highest building and jumping off the roof!  Haven’t we all wondered what flying feels like?  That would have to be closest feeling to freedom I could ever have.  And then my body would strike the ground and my head would explode and my bones would be turned to powder and my insides would spill out all over the place and then everyone could see and be 100% sure that I was dead.

Then they could start dancing right there in the streets and throw parties and drink and make toasts to the fact that I am no longer there.  What a joyous moment that would be. 

If I do it inside though I wonder what album I’ll put on for those final special moments.  Or maybe I’ll put on a movie or both.  And what will be the last thing I eat?  

Sometimes I cry on and off for several hours and I don’t understand why.  I’ve made a terrible mistake but I know how to correct it. After the parties are over I would really rather that no one think about me anymore.  Unless once a year they want to visit my tombstone and spit on it or piss on it.  I don’t think I would mind that so much.  

The Chitterling Circus

At some point today I will have no choice but to watch my surprisingly crisp bootleg of the great 1955 Turkish film Ucan Daireler Istanbulda, better known to American audiences as Flying Saucers Over Istanbul.  Then I will watch La Nave de Los Monstrous twice in a row while falling in mad love all over again with both Gamma and Beta and perhaps afterward I will watch a film with Yamila Herrera, maybe El Chacal de la Frontera.  Yamila, where are you?  Who are you?  Why did you come into my life?  You are the great mystery behind everything, the piece that doesn’t fit.  

These films make me happier than a mangy dog rolling around in a steaming pile of pig shit.  Or for that matter happier than a mangy pig rolling around in a steaming pile of dog shit.  Take your succulent pick my juicy followers for the hour of truth is nearly upon us.  

I was about to murder this messenger of doom when he obliquely informed me that although I consider myself to be the alpha male in this universe there exists another who is coming and I will not survive his arrival.  I know there is a doppelganger of me out there somewhere in the ether and I am doing my best to locate and execute him.  

I snapped my fingers to the tune of the thing that comes into my room at night and takes me away.  I refer to it as a dream and I the dreamer but this is nothing more than a defense mechanism to cope the suffocating terror I feel when it arrives.  I wonder what I did to deserve this but I suppose that doesn’t really matter.  

There is a dragon at the end of this summer and I have seen it in the park.  No one else sees it but me.  Families have picnics, children run and jump on the playground and no one sees this beast lying in wait right there in front of them.  Does it want the children I wonder?  I always see everything and am always helpless to stop anything.  

That rope hanging in front of me looks mighty tempting, especially against the lovely black and white backdrop.  What kind soul crafted this noose for me?  Oh God, there’s that thing in the doorway again.  I think it’s smiling.  Tears run down my face.  Why do I keep seeing it?  Please don’t come any closer.  I have a little chair.  I can reach the rope.  Please don’t come any closer.  

I think very soon I am going to purchase the first season of the Bill Bixby, Lou Ferrigno Incredible Hulk TV series.  I will then watch several episodes with a drink in hand, alternately laughing and bursting into tears and pausing on occasion to stare at the moon in fear.  I cannot recall a time when the moon did not frighten me.  I say a quick a thank you every night that passes when I cannot see the moon or when it is only a tiny crescent.  I can handle the crescents but anything half or full is terrible.  I think I will also purchase soon an album by Paris (the rapper, not the city in northern Paris).  

I wonder if I will put on the album Lodger in those final moments.  I think that would not be such a bad selection.  People can trash on it all they want and I’ll fight anyone in the streets who wishes to throw down about it but I say I prefer Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Strikes Again to his original The Dark Knight Returns.  I just love the bombast, the outrageousness, the sheer audacity and ridiculous gonzo nature of the work.  The art is also much more beautiful, particularly with Lynne Varley’s bizarre color choices.  I encourage any fanatic of pop art or great experimental works to check it out.  

There are probably very few things in the world I love as much as fishnet stockings.  Even the words themselves bring me such undiluted and admittedly perverse delight to say or type out.  Oh fishnet stockings, you truly are a thing of beauty and wonder.  Your very existence has made my life worthwhile.  

It is very possible I will eat a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich today but I have not yet made up my mind about that particular business.  I am keenly aware that I do not have any milk in my refrigerator and this is most disconcerting as it is my beverage of choice with such a meal.  Perhaps a trip to the store is in order.  I will paint on my best smile and zip up my best suit of skin and hope no one looks at or speaks to me.  

Trumpets blare inside my head as I relive all my failures.  It is too easy to feel nothing as your life flashes before your eyes.  I keep trying to escape this dinner but all efforts are easily thwarted by forces far beyond my understanding or control.  Doors only lead to other doors; an endless maze of dark wooden passages.  There are people inside the walls and there is an endless applause before any show has even started.  Someone keeps whispering in my ear but I do not know who they are.  

Mommy doesn’t love you and she never did.  Mommy had a temper and she said bad mean things and made you do bad things.  I don’t think mommy liked children very much and I think she maybe hated herself too.  Mommy was ugly and scary and her eyes were hard to look at and you always tried to avoid them.  She sat by the side of your bed.  Mommy was even scarier at night.  Her eyes would bulge and her face would contort when she screamed.  Mommy hated you and told you to go rot in hell.  Ugly, mommy was so very ugly and scary and there was always that flight of stairs nearby but you were too little and scared.  Bad day for everyone.  I hope you’re fucking happy for the fucking mood you put me in!

I did not sit on any flagpoles today.  

Dimensional Gates and Crystals

I began the day as any other: eating farm fresh eggs and a McIntosh apple.  No, that isn’t quite right.  The eggs were indeed farm fresh but my fruit of choice was actually strawberries.  There’s nothing quite as good as strawberry as the kids like to say.  Suffer the little children, am I right?  I topped it off with a mug of steaming hot coffee, black.  While consuming my breakfast I watched a bit of MLB Central wherein actress Alyssa Milano was a guest, discussing her new clothing line (which features some baseball themed garb that is actually quite cute) as well as her thoughts on the Dodgers lineup.  I’d forgotten how physically attractive Milano is and I never even knew she was a baseball fan so my morning was already productive as I’d been reminded of an important fact of life while learning a new one.  During a commercial break I also saw that Outback is now featuring some special involving steak and unlimited shrimp.  Maybe I should invite Milano out and we can consume aquatic life, slabs of undercooked red meat (as is my wont), and weak but appropriately priced alcoholic beverages while discussing America’s pass time.  I would tell her my favorite part of the game is the 7th inning stretch because it has a kind of lackadaisical poetry to it.  We’d laugh like old friends and she would order more shrimp and I would order more drinks.  Seeing that smile on her face I would finally feel like a real person, like I’m worth a damn (but you’re not).  

Immediately after my hearty breakfast I proceeded, via the magic of online resources, to watch several episodes of Sid and Marty Kroft’s Land of the Lost.  Savvy readers are no doubt wondering if I am speaking of the syndicated 70’s series or the 90’s revival.  It may shock some to realize that I am speaking of the latter.  It can be truly said that back in the day during those long lost golden years of the 1990’s I had a crush on cave-girl Christa played by Shannon Day.  Keep careful watch of my word choice for my feelings were not the same as the deep heart wrenching love I had for Star Trek the Next Generation’s Deanna Troi (played by the lovely Greek actress Marina Sirtis).  It was a simpler kind of sentiment yet looking back I can see the potential was there for true love.   Perhaps if I’d allowed those feelings to blossom instead of burying them with deceit and compromise I would not be the conflicted (you’re a complete ugly failure) man I am today.  I will continue to pray that some brave company – Shout Factory perhaps – one day puts this series on digital video disc or – dare I hope? – blu ray that I may turn the lights down low and marathon watch 26 episodes over the course of a single night; bottle of El Jimador silver tequila in one hand, standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun in the other (just do it).  Still, it was an unexpected pleasure to view these episodes with the mid-morning sun.  I found the narrative to be as charming as ever and the theme song as divinely rocking and acidly metallic as I remember.  The dinosaur special effects (by the Chiodo Brothers if I’m not mistaken) are beautiful and make me truly feel as though I am lost in an alternate dimension of prehistoric proportions (just end it already, no one cares now,  no one will care once you’re gone).   

Whilst furiously pumping out my purple prose I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly.  Originally, I had no plans to purchase this latest release by the young Lamar however my beloved friend Willem Joseph Montejamo who is the most ardent and slavishly devoted fan of rap and hip hop I’ve ever encountered in my (failed and worthless) life exchanged federal reserve notes for the disc on its first day of release.  I’ve been brushing up on my street vernacular recently so I can say with some degree of certainty that he was “bumping” these tunes in his automobile for several consecutive months afterward.  The aforementioned fact that he and I are lifelong bosom buddies means that yours truly was privy to several listening opportunities while sitting in the passenger seat, watching the dirty streets grow dirtier and revealing to me their own rich tales of police brutality, child abuse, rape and murder.  Montejamo and I discussed at greats lengths the often controversial merits of this specific genre of music though no obvious conclusions could be reached.  Originally, I attempted to find some parallels to this release and D’Angelo’s Black Messiah from earlier in the year but this quickly proved to be the wrong approach and was almost dangerous in the way it gravitated toward an intellectually reproachful brand of criticism that I try not dabble in.  Eventually I would go on to purchase this disc where it would become an occasional soundtrack to my excision of tortured musings (hang yourself with your own neckties).  I can say that hearing George Clinton’s beautiful voice on the opening track, coupled with the frequent if slightly derivative funk leanings, makes me want to do nothing more than listen to all those great old P Funk recordings.  Still, it is so far a largely rewarding, messy and challenging album.  Further analysis is necessary on several different fronts.  

I began watching Brian De Palma’s 2002 movie Femme Fatale last night but only viewed roughly 15 minutes before stopping.  It seemed like a quality film and I was enjoying myself but an opportunity presented itself for the consumption of alcoholic beverages and I could not resist.  If memory serves I drank vodka on the rocks, an Aqua Velva, a Coors Light, another vodka on the rocks, a glass of wine and another Coors Light (you should have drank yourself to death).  I am not proud of that list.  Nor am I not not proud of it.  But it is accurate and I have always prided myself on accuracy.  

What do you mean by that?

My morning began with an epic trip down to Ye Olde Conglomerate that I may purchase Prince’s new album HITnRUN Phase One on compact disc format.  Naturally, I bought 9 copies.  Of course this was after I drank a steaming pot of black coffee down at Harry’s Diner (let me remind you of a couple rules of that place: 1. You don’t fuck with Harry’s money.  2. You don’t fuck Harry’s girls).  I seemed to be persona non grata there but for the life of me I can’t figure out.  I mulled this over whilst walking back to my car but it was more or less forgotten by the time I reached the first cross street wherein I saw a decrepit man with a crude cardboard sign begging for money.  I regarded him largely with indifference.   As I drove I listened to Parliament’s 1978 album Motor Booty Affair.  It is classic liquid funk.  I seem to be noticing more people on the streets these days begging for money.  I’m not sure if there has been an increase in this business model as of late or if my powers of observation are simply heightening.  Sometimes I judge without thinking.  Sometimes I wish to know their stories.  I love people who feign sympathy but make no effort to assist.  Is there a reason everyone in the world is a hypocrite?  I was in Albertson’s the other day buying underarm deodorant when I heard the song Hypocrates by Marina and the Diamonds.  It was my first time hearing the song and I thought it was beautiful.  It’s on my list of albums to purchase.  

I was watching Richard Donner’s 1978 classic Superman: The Movie the other day and when I saw during the opening credits the words: “Editor Stuart Baird” I nearly snatched my Sony Playstation 3 and flung it out the window while simultaneously dropping a massive load of steaming excrement into my crisp clean jockies.  Cinema fans know Baird has had quite an illustrious career as editor but they may also know he is responsible for Star Trek the Next Generation’s simultaneous nadir and denouement in the form Star Trek Nemesis.  He is a truly despicable man.  

There was something in my home last night but I was too afraid to look.  Please don’t make me look.  I knew it was in the bedroom so I closed the door and stayed in the living room.   I saw a blur of it; a pale naked shape, it moved in silence.  I could not sense whether it was masculine or feminine and I honestly don’t know which would have been more frightening.  I did not want to see its eyes and I did not want it to touch me.  Where did it come from?  Was this something I had manifested?  What is happening inside my brain?  

I think of you and I imagine us dancing inside a mansion that was constructed several hundred years ago.  Am I drunk?  Something has invaded my mind.  Your body is stitched together like pieces of rag dolls that have been sewn and re-sewn.  Yet you are still beyond compare.  We dance and spin around the room and it feels like we are floating.  I have done hideous things against nature.  There is no possible way you could love me.

This thought echoes inside my brain again.  There is no possible way you could love me.  This has occurred to me several times over the past few months.  I’m not sure whether it is most prominent on Sundays.  It is a hypocritical, self-serving notion.  Is this really what I think?  It is easier to fail when I already believe all is lost anyway.  What a pretentious fool I am.  I constantly believe I am beyond saving.  I wonder what the true nature of this is.  I can’t bring myself to use the word “you”.  Is it wrong to imagine you in the figure of a woman?  Can you be made of water in that way?  It is the only thing that makes sense in my diseased mind.  Can one love so powerfully without falling in love?  And there’s an indescribably selfish part of me that wonders why I should be robbed of that fun.  

Critics be damned, I love the digital look of Michael Mann’s 2009 feature Public Enemies.  It was a bold choice for a period piece and it pays off in spades as far as me is concerned.  It is a beautiful looking film and I wish more directors would take similar chances.  Marion Cotillard is a fantastic actress.  I will now look forward to any flick in which she stars (though the director should have asked for another take or two for her death scene in The Dark Knight Rises, SPOILER ALERT!).  

I think in a little while I’ll watch the 1958 Argentine flick La Venenosa starring Mexican actress Ana Luisa Peluffo.  Is it possible that I could fall even more in love with Ana Luisa Peluffo?  I don’t see how but I’m willing to give it a try.  

It was not until I arrived home that I realized I’d mistakenly purchased the Full Screen version of Hollywoodland on DVD as opposed to the widescreen version.  I considered taking my own life in that very moment.  I’ve listened to that new Prince album 3 times in a row now.  Should I keep going?  There is some fantastic and sumptuous bass playing on this disc.  I’m to listen to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly first.  I finally broke down and bought it. 

I am constantly drained by having to look at everyone.  I often wonder why everyone is staring at me.  I have seen pictures of pale and freakish looking people holding up signs that say “Thank You Lord Jesus for President Trump” and I am at once amused, disgusted and very very afraid.  There is a startling amount of ugly things in this humble world.  We must all be a devastating disappointment.  It must be painful just to look at us.  My head hurts and I think I will go cry for a very long time now.  

I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that I’ve watched the movie Lost Highway about 60 times in the last 3 months or so.  Proud?  You bet I am.  

Prince: HITnRUN phase one album review

I woke up bright and early this morning on my bathroom floor.  I wiped the dried vomit from my face, changed my clothes into something more flannel and hopped onto the old computer, very cognizant of the fact that today marks the release of Prince’s new album HITnRUN phase one.  I knew you loyal readers would be chomping at the proverbial bit to hear my thoughts on this latest work so I turned the volume up and set fingertips to sticky keyboard keys in an effort to adequately explain my thoughts. 

Right away I must question the logic of starting the album with clips from other famous opening P tracks like For You, 1999 and Let’s Go Crazy.  Similar to the clips at the end of Musicology it can be dangerous to remind the listener of such stellar tracks while premiering new untested ones.  Still, MILLION $ SHOW is a bubbly attention grabbing track, so bubbly it’s like a pleasant version of spilling a gallon of shampoo in my eyes.  I love this melody.  Initial impressions are that it makes me happy (though maybe not as much as headscissors).  It’s a bit shocking that Prince almost doesn’t sing at all on this song aside from a little rap like part in the middle.  Instead the vocal parts are given to Judith Hill who does have a great spirited voice.  Its such bright song, already stuck in my diseased brain.  The Kid always does right with the openers and this is no exception. 

SHUT THIS DOWN sees Prince pushing his voice in the style of My Name is Prince; a refrain also reminds me a bit of Chococlate Box.  I can hear all the production techniques that controversial co-producer choice Joshua Welton has added to this sound.  But I quite like them on this track, save maybe the sampled voices.  Holy shit, that bass solo is incredible.  This is a stormer and creates a great one-two (fruit) punch to start the album with. 

AIN’T ABOUT TO STOP really sounds nothing at all like Condition of the Heart but the way he starts off each verse kind of trembly in his higher register makes me think of one of part of that other song.  This is a very crunchy tune, carrying over the braggadocio of the last song.  I’m not sure how much I like the middle eastern style synth (I’m guessing it’s a lot) but I’m pretty sure I don’t like the pitched low vocals that repeat the chorus line.  But then I love the nutty bridge breakdown thing with the bass and synth and all kinds of goo-dads and slee-slorks going on!  Damn, this sounds great with the volume high and me slamming my face into the wall until I draw blood.  Surprisinglyaggressive song.  Sometimes some good ol’ fashioned chaos (and disorder) can rescue things.  There are eccentricities which I appreciate (a la the extended version of Partyman, still one of the all-time classics) and I sense this song will grow on me like fungus, especially when taken in context of the whole album. 

LIKE A MACK comes on and this is slick, hot funk!  I’ll blast this is in my car while on the way to a Latin themed club.  I love those horns!  Damn I love dem horns!  I love that guitar part too but it is a bit of prototypical guitar funk that I sense Prince could do in his sleep!  Maybe he recorded this song while sleeping, which would be wild.  I dig that ending too, give me horns and synth and smooth funk and I’m happier than a mangy dog rolling around in a pile of steaming pig shit!  After more listens I love this tune.  Great modern Prince funk.  All these guest stars originally gave me pause but Curly Fryz (who the hell?!) actually kills on this one.  And holy moly does that chorus guitar and horn hit me like a sack of hammers!  Easily my favorite so far and I’ll add it to any mix and play it all my future dinner parties. 

I didn’t look at the title of track 5 and when the Purple One started it up by asking “Are you ready?” my first response was oddly not a pointed answer to his question but an intrinsic reaction of noted familiarity.  Had I not heard this beginning recently on another song?  Then I remembered what I’d forgotten (the boiler is going to explode!): For some inexplicable reason HitNRun phase one features a remix of the song This Could be Us from last year’s Art Official Age.  Those who know me best know that was one of my favorite tracks from that disc and unfortunately I do not care much for the remix.  There is a nice searing guitar solo on this version but I’m not sure it fits with the vibe of the song – even the weird compromised vibe of this version.  Overall this tune kills my buzz a little bit.  Though while I was in my kitchen pouring myself a glass of orange juice I listened through the walls and realized this remix does fit well on this album.  I’m still not into it though.  I don’t force anything. 

The next song also starts with a question but this actually brings my buzz back like I’d just chugged an entire bottle of Patron Silver.  Savvy fans know that FALLINLOVE2NITE (Darn it’s hard to write out the titles to his songs) actually premiered on New Girl after some Superbowl or some game or something one or two years ago.  I have loved that tune ever since and feared it would never make its way onto an album proper.  So imagine my perverse delight to find it here!  This is the perfect purple panacea for the pain that the previous pandering and pestiferous remix brought to my perforated (gages) ears.  It’s just such a cute tune, sort of throw-back and yet futuristic at the same time.  Its jaunty, it swings, it’s simple and frothy.  It’s so light and airy it almost disappears entirely but while it’s on I love it to pieces.  I’ll listen to this while driving through the city at night.  My second fave on the album.  The cute Camille-esque voice is always a winner (where I am so obviously a loser). 

Holy mackerel, X’S FACE starts up so heavy with that synth and falsetto.  Not sure how I feel yet, the groove might be a little too angular.  Okay, now he drops the register like I drop after being set on fire and I can feel it a little more.  Still, that groove is almost Nailsish but it’s not really going anywhere.  Or is it?  Oh, but that little breakdown is real nice.  Not sure….

Man, HARDROCKLOVER lays it on great and thick with the guitar heroics and the trademark screams.  I’m not sure I like the production, a little modern and arena yearning but this song does hit that spot of sweetness that makes me crank the volume and drink a six pack of Chucklin’ Cherry Squeezits!  Those guitar solos soar into the clouds!

Which is a fantastic segue to the next song MR. NELSON, which sounds to all the world like a remix of Clouds from Art Official Age.  Clouds was another of my favorite tunes from that release so at least he’s retreading over the ones I dig.  And unlike the aforementioned This Could be Us remix, this one makes me feel good.  It’s easier to think of it more as a musical segue than a flow blown song but I hear some Caribbean xylophone do-blads and disco hall grooves.  I can blast this no problem.  It almost reminds of the extended remix things on the Diamonds and Pearls singles, maybe something from the Cream remixes. It works quite well as a followup to the hard rock of the last track.  Never underestimate the importance of sequencing in an album.

        

1000 X’s & O’s is straight R n B which is not always the easiest genre for yours truly to get into as my background is full of scorching death metal and polka laden Germanic folk songs.  Good gravy, that bass is groovy though.  I am going to learn that line and play it for 47 hours straight.  I think this song will sound lumberjack slammin’ once its off my fifth rate computer speakers and on the old Sony Stereo.  It’s only ok though. 

JUNE.  Finale.  Sweet and refreshingly understated.  Great slow jam.  Must be the pasta. Oh, and I can’t tell if that little bass flourish is a bass guitar or synth bass but it makes me drool.  

I have no clue how thes thoughts may change over the coming miserable years of my worthless life.  The excitement of a new Prince album is always an intense thing and my feelings shall surely morph and evolve though who can say if is shall be for the better or worse?  Does the “phase one” in the title mean more music of this type is to come?  Or will he will lose interest and move on?  Will he keep Josh (and 3rdEyeGirl) around or try something or someone new?

Overall this album feels almost like a mixtape or a flipside to Art Official Age and that’s not a bad thing.  It’s a fast, intense slab of electronica, funk and rock.  It felt a bit like downing an extra sugary fruit drink and jumping around for 40 minutes.  The album starts so strong and beautifully and kind of flubs in some parts but overall I find this an exciting work.  It does not immediately strike me as a major album in his catalogue but it does strike me as a compelling and interesting one.  I’ll take it! 

a blood red setting sun

The chase is over and it was sublime. 

I was so skeptical the first time I saw you.  You were beautiful, that was obvious.  But for some reason I had an immediate distrust.  It must be a character flaw on my part; how awful of me to ask you to prove you are genuine.  But you did not hesitate for a moment and it was not long before I was completely under your spell.  I had never known someone so fascinating, so cultured and so generous.  You listened without judgment and you gave without hesitation.   You played music for me, classical and original. I closed my eyes and there was only you and the music.  My love was yours so fast.  I was never so happy to be proven so wrong.  I stood humbled before you.

You encouraged the expansion of my imagination and showed me how.  More than that, you took my hand and helped me wade into that river, revealing how our thoughts and fantasies could be so wonderful and so deadly.  We create our own nightmares, don’t we?  And then we allow them to fester and grow.  We fall in love with them.  You knew this was happening and you only smiled because you loved to see that grow inside of me.  And I loved seeing that spark of joy in your eyes, that subtle smile that always acts as an overture to the immaculate destruction you reaped inside of me.  

Memory is a funny thing.  From now on it is all I will have instead of your view.  But I can live in there, for as long as is needed.  There are dark and horrible things behind us I would prefer not to remember.  But neither of us have that option.  You wouldn’t have it any other way.  Always so wise.  We are constantly living with everything we’ve done before.  It is a certainty there are many more dark and horrible things ahead.  I will remember being on your couch in those moments.  On the couch you saw right through me and you taught me how rich fear could be and how to use all my insecurities and horrible desires to my own advantage.  I never felt more artistic than when I was around you.  I could not write a word without wondering what you would think and though I knew it would never measure up I still used your example every single time I sought to create.  This will hold true forevermore. 

Everything shared now lives on inside of us.  My own memory palace is being constructed and furnished daily.  I have you seen you there, victorious.  I have seen how I would have burned everything I own, burned away my entire life, just to hear you say that you could not leave without me.  We could have made a home together; a place just for the two of us.  I would never betray you.  I would never deny you anything. Always an outsider, I saw your embrace and my desire peaked.  I could never have this but I did not feel jealousy toward the one you held for I loved him too in my own strange way.  I merely wished to be the one who could rest his head on your shoulder.  Even as we plummeted there could be no place I desire more than at your side.  I would not let you go.   But my heart was not strong enough for your tastes.  I understand.  At least I could touch greatness.  At least I could witness your design.  

How strange yet appropriate that Susie should be there at the end.  You orchestrated that too of course; knowing how fragile I would be in those final moments you wanted her there to guide me.  Is this to let me know that everything will somehow be okay?  Or more just to confirm how important you have been and will always be to me?  Your relevancy and power and will never diminish and I know that makes you happy. 

“When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me.”  I surely will.  Often.  Always.  I miss you so much already and virtually no time has passed at all.  Will you ever think of me?  How sentimental are you really?  I wonder but I know I will never ask.  Still, I saw those pages in your book; all your attempts to turn back time.  Will you be trying until the very end?  Another teacup shatters, yes?  I imagine I may intentionally break one from time to time, never satisfied when it does not come back together.  

I will continue to live and maybe not just survive.  Perhaps I will even thrive.  As stated, the chase is over and I did not win this game.  The crime was love.  A kiss of gratitude.  A kiss goodbye.  And hope is the final dark word that will never let my mind or spirit rest.  The hope that one day we may meet again.  One day we may live again.  I don’t think I fully believe this but the words are sweet all the same.  The love is forever real.

So maybe dinner some time.  I can allow myself that much hope, no more.  But it’s enough.  Yes, a dinner not so unlike the many splendid ones we enjoyed together.  How I loved to watch you cook, so artistic and theatrical, so much passion.  But should it come to pass please don’t make too much of a fuss, just something small and intimate.  I’ll bring the wine.  You prepare whatever you wish, anything.  You may even prepare me if you like.  After all, the tragedy is not to die but to be wasted.  And I know you only ever wanted the best for me.  

No matter how long the wait – and in my mind or face to face – I’m sure it will be as delicious as ever.    

I dug the Cronenberg influences

I spent the better part of my evening eating cold pork n’ beans straight from the can (whenever possible I try to eat everything straight from the can) and reflecting upon my cinematically rich weekend (now more than a week old).  To my left was a new box of Count Chocula cereal and its dark visage tempted me with every passing moment.  On the desk in front of me was a copy of Vampirella Archives Volume 6 and the tempestuous supernatural avenger was making my heart and manhood swell with heated love and fierce desire. 

My weekend began in earnest on Thursday evening as I hitchhiked down to the cinema with a singular endgame in mind: to watch Shaun the Sheep Movie. 

And here’s where we encounter a bizarre and dire sociological query: is it odd for a grown man to go by his lonesome to watch a children’s film?  It even sounds strange written out!  But why?  Why must I persecuted for my love of claymation?! Why must I suffer the mean looks from families as I ascend the stairs to my gilded seat?  The movie itself was classic old school silent comedy with the endearing characters we’ve come to know and expect from Aardman Animations.  Shaun, Timmy and Bitzer are hugely necessary in these depressing times. 

No more than 24 hours passed and I found myself back at the multiplex to watch Joel Edgerton’s directorial debut The Gift.  I will say upfront that certain plotpoints borrow heavily from Michael Haneke’s 2005 French flick Cache and Park Chan-wook’s 2003 South Korean flick Oldboy (and I guess Spike Lee’s 2013 American remake by default) and I would probably recommend both of those over The Gift, certainly Cache (though to be fair, Cache borrows heavily from David Lynch’s 1996 flick Lost Highway for certain plot points and I would recommend that above any of the others) but this still remains a taut and effective suburban thriller. 

I was back at the cinema on Saturday evening to watch none other than Josh Trank’s Fantastic Four.  I feel critics and general internet grumps are being far too harsh with this movie (I had similar sentiments about Terminator Genisys, maybe I’m just losing my marbles!).  It is a bad movie to be sure but it is not some kind of abomination and it continues to liquefy my brains that something like Thor: The Dark World can get a pass but this is burned alive at the stake.  I will deem it the title of an interesting failure with the caveat that at least a fair amount of that interest comes from all the behind the scenes drama and intrigue as much as the movie itself.  I plan to purchase it on blu ray the day of its release and watch it daily for a period of several months. 

For the past several days I’ve been listening nigh nonstop to Tamia’s new album Love Life.  It is soulful and supple RnB and Tamia’s sexy silky smooth voice is aural caramel.  This work seems to be about extolling the virtues of commitment and the married life and the ways that comfort and devotion can lead to unexpected pleasures.  The songs feel heartfelt and the instrumentation and production is often thrilling with Tamia’s lovely voice always providing the necessary central thrust.  It is a delightful late summer surprise and I predict it shall be the soundtrack to many an evening at home or in my car (where I feel safest of all). 

I may be in the cultural minority but I absolutely love the song All the Midnights in the World, track 7 from Prince’s 2007 album Planet Earth.  I find it to be a very sweet and charming little number and the lyrics super cute in that Princely way.  Sometimes I listen to 59 times in a row on repeat while dancing around my posh flat.  I also love its placement on the album as a nice preamble to the disco funk scorcher Chelsea Rodgers (featuring Shelby J). 

Those who know me best know I despise Christmas albums almost as much as I despise my own worthless existence.  Yet I would be lying through my coffee and nicotine stained teeth if I said I wasn’t happier than a smelly pig rolling around in a steaming pile of horse shit to learn that Australia’s favorite Kylie Minogue (that name has a hard g pronunciation which I personally learned upon interviewing Kylie’s sister Danii Minogue during a 1995 press junket where we discussed her stint on the popular British show The Big Breakfast) is due to release a Christmassy album later this year.  Kylie’s last 5 albums or so have been nothing short of perfection and I have come to think of her as something of an unimpeachable force pure shimmering pop bliss.  Her music videos often make me erupt into trembling ecstasy and this is an unexpected lusty bonus.  I plan to buy 9 copies of this new album and listen to them simultaneously. 

Of course I’m also excited about Prince’s new album due out next month, less than a year after the two albums he released last year for which he did next to no promotion whatsoever despite having signed some deal with Warner Bros. which would seem to necessitate some type of promotion for his new work!  And I’m still waiting on those remasters!  Oh well.  I love the man so much and I will always salivate at the prospect of new tunes. 

Lucha Underground recently ended its long and beautiful first season with Mil Muertes, Catrina and their dark cadre essentially in complete control of the temple and with several other juicy cliffhangers.  Stuff I love never lasts so I will not be surprised if this does not return for a second season but I feel confident in saying this must be the purest and most perfect wrestling I’ve ever watched in my miserable life and it was all around a brilliant and consistently thrilling program with interesting angles, exceptionally well written rivalries, well developed characters on both sides and genuinely great wrestling action.  Thank you to El Rey Network for putting it on!  You brought a little joy to my otherwise painful and wholly unfulfilling existence.  I am also deeply in love with both Catrina and Sexy Star and would love to go out for cheeseburgers and beer sometime, perhaps the amusing house wine.  Call me. 

I’m eating .52 ounces of sweety powder with frutal flavors. 

Awaythrow

I wrote this stuff last week and now it’s even more irrelevant than normal but I thought I’d post it anyway for all the die-hard followers of the cream out there. 

All reports indicate the new Fantastic Four movie is going to be absolute crap but I could not be more excited to see it!  Would I be this excited if it did not have such disastrous word-of-mouth?  Almost certainly not!  2005’s feature film was directed by perhaps our greatest auteur Tim Story.  I first saw this movie opening night way back in the sexy, steamy summer of 2005.  I watched it with a dear friend who now never speaks to me and after the movie we went to Denny’s for some well drinks, bacon and eggs and bowls of oatmeal with milk and brown sugar (how come you taste so good?).  I happen to also own two copies of it on DVD [the standard version and the extended cut (not to be confused with a director’s cut)] and the blu ray.  All this financial support for a movie I would say is quite bad!  But I love bad movies, they provide me with endless hours of pure pleasure. 

I’m also looking forward to Joel Edgerton’s directorial debut The Gift which also premieres this upcoming day of Fri.  I think I’ll make a day of it with milk and cookies and go theatre hopping in a mad sojourn to see these great feature films on the big screen.  Then I’ll return to my posh flat and weep over the futility of my life.  I am such a loser.  It is amazing how little I’ve accomplished over the course of my life.  Have I ever done anything of which I am proud?  Nothing comes to mind.  I feel sorry for myself.  I also feel sorry for all the folks who are actually somehow proud of the meaningless things they have done – things they will admit mean nothing to them in and of themselves.  I am filled with so much sorrow. 

I also desperately want to see Shaun the Sheep Movie and I still need to view Ant-Man and the new Mission Impossible flick!  That’s a motley total of five fucking feature films I want to view post haste!  Perhaps instead of a simple day I’ll make an entire weekend of it and fully give myself over to the art, the magic, the wonder that it cinema!  With each movie I will purchase an extra large tub of hot buttered popcorn, an extra large fountain drink which will be filled with Coca Cola Classic and a box of mini Butterfingers.  If I’m feeling frisky and am at one of the more sophisticated theatres I may also order a hot dog and/or a slice of pizza and/or nachos with extra cheese. 

I know in my heart of hearts I’m going to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street part 3: Dream Warriors and A Nightmare on Elm Street part 4: The Dream Master back to back tonight while guzzling a bottle of cheap white wine which I purchased from the corner market.  It is the only sane thing a man in my position could possibly do this evening.  Afterward, I will likely reflect upon the strange circumstances which led to my own tortured and bizarre existence. 

For the past who knows how many weeks I have been

throwaway

Boy did I wake up depressed this morning.  What a shit day.

I can’t break kayfabe, not now.  Maybe not ever.  It’s true no one seems to be aware of the golden age.  I have such strong plastic desires.  How can I adore you?  I was ever so hopeful but it seems even self destruction is beyond my reach. 

There was a double whammy recently.  Digestivo, espisode 7 of Hannibal season 3 was perhaps the best episode of the entire series and certainly a more than satisfying culmination of several of the series’ main storylines.  And then episode 8 – The Great Red Dragon – began this new and classic story in beautiful fashion.  The episodes are comparable together in terms of quality so I suppose it comes down to whether one is more excited by an ending or by a beginning.  Of course another ending is just over the horizon….

Today seems like it’s going to be a monumentally shitty day but I can’t be too blue because a new Mads Mikkelsen flick entitled The Salvation sees release on blu ray today.  In roughly 9 hours (2.5 now thanks to the lovely voices inside my brain, and now it has actually already happened thanks to the wonders of science!) I will hitchhike on over to ye olde conglomerate and purchase said film with several federal reserve notes.  There will be a smile in a my face and a pronounced crease in my rent trousers.  Then I will sprint home, open a can of pork n’ beans and a can of apricot juice, plant myself on my beourgious sofa and watch this movie until I finally find some semblance of peace within myself. 

The speaker was inside of me.  I have done my research.  There was such fear inside myself as I stood amidst sculpted beauty.  I looked at the fire and thought of you, said a silent prayer.  Will I see this place often? 

When I go home tonight I plan to watch Santo el Enmascarado de Plata Contra la Invasion de los Marcianos at least 3 but possibly as many as 5 times in a row while drinking various types of alcohol.  At some point I will likely burst into tears as I did early this morning. I’m in love with several 

Chase moan, they call him pinky and I lived there prior to that but he was arrested in her spaceship, he was arrested for counterfit crocodiles, she had counterfit crocodiles in her house, felons in her house, 2^nd guy is Richard butcher, he lived there for awhile, first guy was released from prison after serving 18 years, he’s been there since the last blue crescent moon.  I’ve tried selling Mina, she was so rude to me, I called to tell her this guy was shriving there, they’ve threatened me, they put things inside of me and  they’ve threatened to cash my pliers, every time this guy does a hug deal, he comes up the stairs, he makes a fist and hits my boar.  There’s nothing they can do, when I’m tripping the light obtrusive, they have to give 57 million hours notice.  I’ve tried to befriend them; she does not take care of her kids or her wigs.  She is not allowed to love animals but she had 39 cats all last year, reeking and speaking, I complained to Greta for over a year. I honestly believe that with everything has gone on, all the restraints, I don’t know who I need to talk to, I honestly believe she shouldn’t have that cob, she told me
“if you have problem then strike a groove”, when the maintenance pie and the inspection bacon came I told them and I don’t know what they did, if anything.   

The one on the left was named Jared and he was tall and heavyset.  He wore running pants and a sweatshirt that had several paint stains.  He was smoking a cigarette and let the ash fall to the floor.  The one on the right was named Matt and he only wore a pair of dress slacks.  His pale upper body was covered in tattoos and he had piercings in his navel, nipples and on several parts of his head.  He would occasionally start to say something, smile and then remain silent.  There was a German Sheppard lying on the floor next to him, its eyes black and glassy. 

Relationships change you, you become different as a person, you let someone else determine who you will be.  Your spirit personality and body change.  Sex is also traumatic, your body merging with someone else’s, muscles contracting, skin and bone grinding and banging into one another, eyes squeezed shut.  Fluids everywhere. 

I know which connection I should cut.