is it about tech in heat?!

The mad bastard greeted me at midday’s dawn wearing a lime green suit and talking all about compound interest and the recent mineral deposits so prevalent in men of a certain age.  “Please don’t make me eat cockroaches today, mum,” I said in my best baby doll voice, more of a coo really, a gentle lilt in that autumnal breeze which really enhanced the intimacy of the moment.  I briefly wondered if he would bend me over the metal handrail and claim me as his own – both in body and mind – but instead he simply pulled out the latest issue of Lapham’s Quarterly and munched gingerly on a Turkey and Swiss sandwich, checking his watch every seven minutes as a means of protracting the obvious.  I wish I could say I stayed there and ate oyster crackers but the truth is I scampered off to something of an all-purpose utilities store and bought a new Stetson to add to my already formidable collection.  I decided to premiere it later on in the sweltering heat where I would subsequently talk about how much less and less I know about myself.  Dennis was definitely the best Tom.  “You’re fourteen years old!  Fourteen!” the bitch said with her ignorant and ugly mouth.  I could tell he wanted to savagely beat her to death – or at least push her down a flight of stairs in such a way as to ensure neck breakage – but he didn’t have the guts.  Let’s just face facts: he never had the chops, he couldn’t cut the mustard!  

 I was taken aback once more at the disgusting nature of our sexual desires.  They are also replete with a rampant pathetic streak.  We crave a certain stickiness.  We are very much the vermin, filth and pestilence.  I feel sick to my stomach next to my fellow man.  I am the same as any other.  What needy awful things we are. 

What happened to my collection of colorfully painted skulls?  Please don’t make me kiss a dead guy’s jewelry again.  It was so flattering of Mel to remember.  She looked simply gorgeous in that specially designed wedding dress.  Even though she was half-dead I still wanted to be with her; bodies on fire with desire.  Let’s put it all out there for others to see.  We must receive compliments.  Someone please have pity on me and tell me how special I am.  The stars are not the same anywhere.  Anymore.  Pity.  That last half or so has nothing to do with Mel, who is great.  Red sails and thunder rosa! 

I found Alice in Wonderland to be unmitigated dreck and the viewing of it was something of a heartbreaking experience as I have such great love for so many of Tim Burton’s movies (Sleepy Hollow is probably the cutoff point).  I never saw the commercial disappointment Alice Through the Looking Glass (which was not directed by Burton) however composer Danny Elfman did provide the score for both movies and I heard his score for the latter was quite good (though his score for the former was also widely praised).  Herein lies my age-old dilemma: I’ve been on a big Elfman kick lately and would like to acquire both scores for my listening pleasure but I long ago made a silent vow to always watch the movie before listening to the score as the very nature of film music is so beholden to what’s happening on the screen.  Yet the thought of sitting through this movie and watching Johnny Depp for 2 more hours is enough to make me feel reluctance!  You hear that!  You hear my analogy?!  It’s enough to make me feel reluctance! I’m using literary irony here; it’s one of the writer’s sharpest and most powerful tools and can easily be used as a weapon when the situation demands it.  Do I dare purchase and listen to this score without watching the movie?!  Could I possibly live with myself afterward?  I mean, I sit here and these questions weigh so heavily in my mind and I just don’t know what to do about it.  God, I don’t know what to do.  

Jones used to say there’d be a time when we could all lose our minds.  Those truly were the days.  We were living in the end times.  We lived like savages then.  Beautiful savages.  More than people realize, that’s what John said when I showed him.  He didn’t recognize but he still saw.  They’re sending a dummy to….  Still holds up, eh?  Yes it does.  Thank you for the challenge.  Without the challenge I’d be in just as narrow a hallway as that guy!  I’ll probably be seeing the new Spider-Man movie tomorrow or maybe a day or two after that.  Stranger by the Lake was a bold, sly, natty and forceful movie.  Thanks so much for watching out for me.  My goose was almost literally cooked.  ABCD. I keep checking, don’t I?  

But you were right, I said as the nameless woman smiled and nodded.  We are falling in love with an illusion inside the square, a construct.  We invent and project as much as you do.  If only I had more stripes.  Then I would be that much closer.  But we can never really know.  We’re not allowed to know.  

There was that unexpected moment of happiness.  He saw her in that single instant loved her and knew of their entire lives together.  She was wearing purple and walking through in the afternoon sun and she had a baby in her arms.  This is not for me but it is.  He tried so hard to find her.  Even though he always knew right where to look he still explored.  “Awe.”  The alchemist said she would likely never forget.  That time was meant to be something.  She held up her hand and offered it.  What’s your name? 

Watched Lost Highway again the other night.  I simply adore that movie. It is such an inspirational and aspirational work.  

The new Malick and Korean food.  That is my evening.  That is a great evening.  Possibly Naked Lunch sprinkled in.  Can’t forget to look out for—

one one one three (just a number)

My compact disc copy of Danny Elfman’s score to Tim Burton’s 1999 flick Sleepy Hollow arrived in the mail today and along with the disc was a small hastily scrawled personalized note from the seller which read “Thanks & Enjoy!”  Those little touches make all the difference in this increasingly miserable world and are precisely what will make yours falsely a repeat customer.  I was at the cinema and when the movie ended I wanted to kill myself.  I recommend Beatriz at Dinner.  It rests entirely on the very capable shoulders of Salma Hayek and John Lithgow.  King Cobra was an interesting film with performances both bold and subtle and some surefooted direction.  

I’m shitting on my whole life.  Let’s go to the beach!  Let’s go eat some shit!  We’ve had some hot days recently.  That’s why I watched The Howling last night. Beautiful blu ray transfer.  Just look!  I only pretend not to care.  Underneath I am crying enough rivers to fill a thousand oceans!! Still waters run deep.  Yet I’m only happy when it rains.  I’m a bit tired of Zimmer but his score to Crimson Tide is quite good.  I can’t deny it.  I can’t decry it.  

I was tasked by a covert organization to intercept the transfer of said documents.  I promptly vomited in an old waste basket and then danced a mambo with a gorgeous woman named Ana who had pom-poms on her pink pumps and the sight of this made my eyes bulge and pulse quicken and after the dance I acquiesced to her desires and ordered a large stack of buttermilk pancakes lathered in Buttress’s store brand butter and Buttress’s brand maple syrup.  She piled on the powdered sugar and after she was done consuming her breakfast she discussed finances and the new issue of Lapham’s Quarterly.  

At the document drop I attempted to run up and distract them with a tale of my hockey oriented youth and was planning to snatch the secret documents [(which were actually thin sheets of plastic written on with invisible ink only accessed by drinking strychnine out of a glass with a little umbrella and green olive (with the pit, always with the pit, no pits is the pits is what I always say!)] though I was promptly shot by Agent Walters and my leg exploded like it was made of molasses and bird seed.  I feel to the ground screaming “bloody homicide” and then laughed when I remembered the time I began a cross country trip before having to turn back only 3 hours in upon grimly realizing I’d left the stove on and my wallet in the safe.  Walters told me to lay still and count balls of yarn and that the ambulance would be there in no time due to the recent advances in quantum mechanics.  He told me to apply pressure and don’t forget to buy more oatmeal for the tri-annual bake-off!  Then he hoisted a Sony boombox onto his leather jacket clad shoulder and began blasting the new hit from Karol G and Bad Bunny (El Rey de Trap).  This came as no surprise as Walters has long been a music enthusiast and frequently speaks of the freeing and sensuous grooves found in Trap, Bachata and Reggaeton.  

A redneck was skinning someone alive to left of me and I asked them to please keep it down as I wanted to fully appreciate the liquid tight rhythms pumping through the Sony speakers.  Four prostitutes walked by (one white, one black, one Asian and one Latin) and laughed at my misfortune and I promptly asked the Latin one to sit on my face and start twerking the shit out of it as I’ve long fantasized about being unceremoniously twerked to death!  “Gyrate gal, gyrate,” I said in my best Jamaican accent though admittedly it’d been since I last vacationed in the islands and I was more than a little rusty.  

“Honey, facefucking of any sort costs a pretty penny.  You want the goods you gotta show me the cheddar,” she said, turning around so I could get a mouth watering glimpse of her massive derriere which was lovingly crammed into a cheetah print skirt.  “Upon receiving of the payment in Swiss escrow I will then proceed to facefuck you to death as you wish, just really twerk the ever-living shit right out of you.  I will also regale with the tale of when I danced Agamemnon in the Russian Bolshoi ballet during the great summer of 96’.”   

“Damnit Walters,” I cried out through gritted teeth, the taste of yesterday’s lime Jell-o still thick on my tongue, “you don’t realize what you’re doing!  If I don’t secure those documents we’re all gonna have front row tickets to the last shit show on earth!  I’m talking real Armageddon shit, friend!  There won’t be enough vulcanized rubber in all of London to save your sorry candy ass!  Damn you Walters!  I’ll follow you til the end of time itself you aluminum fink fuck!”
George Romero’s Creepshow is a colorful comic infused and ghoulishly good time.  I’ve lost interest in myself.  My self.  

Nine Inch Nails EP from last December, I is really connect with it right now.  It has a real punk spirit.  Peaks helped. It reminds in some ways of How to Destroy Angels’s debut EP which is a great little record that still gets a lot of spins to this very day!  

The Hills Have Eyes is one of my favorite Wes Craven movies.  I’m eager to see how Arrow’s transfer of the film looks.  I’m saying it right now: for my money it is the superior gritty and sweaty 70’s horror flick, ahead of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (though likely not a patch on many of the Italian horror flicks of the era).  

If only I could be a Chinese man who resembled Vladimir Putin.  Then everything would be mine.  All at once I was happy again and eating cinnamon by the spoonful and listening to Ice-T’s 1991 Original Gangster!  What a fucking great album!  And 1991 was such a great year for music!  Also, I like Spike Lee movies a lot.  I watched one earlier today called Girl 6.  Great soundtrack.  And great direction.  Good ol’ Spike.  Screams of Passion is a hot song.  And that scene with the cross near the end?!  Bravura filmmaking!  Fucking bravura! 

Really like the new Tyler stuff.  I am such a poseur.  Pretty soon I’ll be listening to the Berlin trilogy a lot again.  Look back in anger!  

I figure 5 more years of hard work and maybe I’ll be a real human being.  (5 years, that’s all we got!).  

thubea

There was a woman singing in Greek and I began to wonder if this was the end of my life.  I could not recall a time when I did not want to die.  I need to make it a double feature tonight.  It’s worth a try, right?  It’s worth a goddamn try as Myer would say.  My stay at the hotel was unceremoniously interrupted last night, my fault really for being so deplorable.  Johns was talking to me about the brand of Peach nectar he was trying out early in the mornings but I wasn’t paying him much attention.  It was either the previous night or night before that in which I’d become inebriated down at Vanessa’s Spittoon and briefly befriended a man telling me all manner of things about the Congene virus and the covert distribution which occurred in inner cities during the 1970’s and 1980’s strange men who wore green suits and carried outdated newspapers.  Even then during those precarious moments my attention was dominated by several vedettes. 

Rich’s Gasoline sells the best Steno notepads and detailed instructions were written by the steadiest of hands long ago.  Thoughts of suicide don’t frighten me, of course.  I wonder if I should have gone to the electrical company, maybe then someone would have reached out a scaly hand and offered me a chance to purchase real prime real estate.  Maybe I should have taken Richards up on that offer when I was being given the grand tour of storage space and allowed all access to the great and grate annals of waste and regret.  Where has all the pulchritude gone? 

I wrote that word on a card once and then it disappeared.  Have you seen this insect?  I wrote that on a flyer and stapled them all over lampposts and people came running from nine different major metropolitan areas, all rambling about their grandchildren and sports blazers and I could only roll my eyes and say “just you wait until I glue uncooked macaroni onto some particle board and use that to surf around the collective and ever distilling lake of reproductive fluids our great forefathers and foremothers left behind when they bought the proverbial barn house.”  Jenni the Vedette gave a public discourse on the advantages of compound interest and low risk mutual funds while Lorena the Vedette was preparing some delicious homemade guacamole in the corner and I must embarrassingly confess I was staring at her rich and ample derriere the entire time and wishing she would take a load off on my humble and happy face. 

Suddenly and without warning there was a flashback to a previous dreadful morning where Fredericks was imparting to me the necessity of completing all the forms by noon the following day and there was a moment of pure panic when I realized I hadn’t yet completed a one.  Just make sure all the lines are straight and the numbers add up, he said.  There was furious reverse facesitting going on and the vedettes were laughing and berating me all the while.  Eventually my face was their collective footrest and the potent perfume of pantyhose and sweat brought about by countless hours of well choreographed dancing provoked an erection so fierce and stone-hard I would later use it as a bat in the annual office softball game when we played against our old rivals the Inner City Tornadoes (after the game we all gathered around for cheeseburgers and beer, the amusing house wine).  You can make lots of money if you stick with me, kid.  The sad truth is that I hadn’t been a kid in many years.  My God, there were thousands of centipedes right there in the corner and they disgusted and terrified me and I knew Fredericks was receiving oral sex from the new intern Holloway right there in the next room so soon after he reprimanded me.  At least he was cordial enough to provide me with a tall frosty glass of whole milk to consume while I worked.  I counted no less than 17 jets pass by my office during the first hour, leaving their chemtrails behind. 

somewhere, I knew that a queen was searching for her sun.  I missed Adamari’s legs this morning and the realization of this set public education back at least a further 17 years.  I began to wonder if I was still destined to have nine children named Richard Karn as it was once predicted.  5 hours later I was eating mangos and drinking black coffee and couldn’t remember why I was so convinced…. Is there anything more awful than being a parent?  These scallywags are coming for yours falsely.  I only wish for The Jackal’s interference.  I realized after talking to him that he is he is an uncaring thing and everything s/he, he, she, we, he, it’s all related and everything is you. 

Tell it to a Cubs fan, Johns said to me and I knew he was right.  The man has his own submarine after all!  Hell, I’m no mastermind.  If only Ingrid had been by my side I may have been able to properly recover the stolen plutonium.  Come to think of it, why didn’t I just construct the door of my posh flat out of plutonium? 

“I was wearing this pair of Secrets in Lace 7 denier fishnet pantyhose yesterday while learning 9 different yet equally complicated dancing routines,” Jennie the Vedette explained to me, her honeyed words accented by the Mexican sun.  At one point the pantyhose were in my mouth and one point the homemade guac was in my mouth and at one point they both were and the vedettes were prophesying and this was when sperm bullets shot off with remarkable power, range and above average accuracy, leaving behind a majestic rainbow with the world’s tiniest pot of gold residing at its lowest point. 

Yes, I went to a movie by myself and there was no one else in the cinema and it felt so good and when it was over red hot tears were running down my face and I wanted nothing more than to blow my brains out but dag-nab-it I’d forgotten me pistol!  I suppose I think about taking my own life an awful lot.  I’m thinking about it now and still crying while I drink white wine.  Am I turning into a werewolf?  Why do I feel so awful all the time?  It was then, while eating a large stack of blueberry pancakes lathered in gold plated maple syrup with a side of nuclear fission that I realized we are all repulsive shapeless blobs of skin and hair and fluids desperately looking to strike up the rank and unflattering connection that we may scream and gurn and discharge.  Oh we are so repulsive I think as I beg her to laugh at me and stuff her red neck tie in my mouth. 

play!

Hans Zimmer’s score for Tony Scott’s 1996 film Crimson Tide is en route to my humble and unhappy home.  I watched Tale of Tales last night, more on that later.  I am as excited as a school girl that our cinemas are getting (great word) Beatriz at Dinner this Friday.  I’ll be there that very day and for roughly 90 minutes I won’t be thinking of suicide.  But where is The Beguiled?!  When does that expand?!  I am perennially behind the curve; such is the nature of wisdom.  I really like Kanye West’s 2013 album Yeezus.  That’s a great thick industrial hip hop thing.  Still on that Ice-T kick too.  Original gangster.  Syndicate!  I awoke to find the Kookaburra laughing at me. Understandably so. 

Words spill from her mouth like red hot diarrhea during the lavish dinner date.  Afterward they make meat pies together and then look up at the sky, mouths agape in the hopes that thick errant bird shit may go splat inside.  Later on they will discuss politics while eating soup with antique silver forks before capping off the night by driving backhoes through the mud and applying several layers of gauze and lubrication jelly to all broken street signs within a 47 mile radius.  As the sun comes up they’ll piss in the alleyway and flap imaginary wings while wondering why the color blue never said hello to the concept of gravity.  Then they’ll promptly take naps and dream about banana cream pies while their housemaids fashion new blankets made out of the blondest hair of dozens of blind babies.  Then I’ll drop by to borrow a pound of butter a bucket of silt.  

 He seems to sway back and forth to a rhythm only he can hear.  Truly, I awoke only in desperate search of Adamari’s luscious legs but this cute birdie was a pleasant surprise.  Green dress.  I love animals.  Animals should not try to act like people.  Heavens no!  People are awful.  Man, I am ugly.  I mean really physically unattractive with a fat grotesque face.  It’s fucking hard to look at me.  But I’m also ugly on the inside.  Is that more or less crucial?  I love that song Breathless by The Corrs.  Real feel-good splashy sunny pop.  I go pazzo for that kind of feel-good pop perfection.  It makes me momentarily forget what a worthless loser fuckup I am.  It’s a fun song to play on the bass too if that’s your thing.  I drank a double whiskey (on the rocks) last night while reading Naked Lunch.  Then I drank 2 (or possibly 3) glasses of cheap white wine and a double vodka (on the rocks).  I’m a big rocks drinker.  Burroughs is quite an inspirational figure.  

Oh I desperately wish she would berate me, remove her boots after a good match and then use my face for her footrest.  

I think I woke up with something sweet and the concept of forgiveness ringing in my ears.  As I seemingly look for structure he wonders if he is simply deluding himself.  Or is he instead simply diluting himself?  Or is it somehow radically both?  What are you really looking for?  Everything important is emblazoned on a piece of wood.  I guess Year Zero is comparable to Pretty Hate Machine.  I love both albums.  Sinning is my desire.  I meant to write that desire is my sin but it forced itself to come out a different way and forced me to confront the reality of the situation.  Know your mother.  It was a press conference of all things.  The walk in was not graceful but it was perfect.  Secrets in lace of course taught me early on the key identifier and what I would not give to put it to the test during that press conference.  Heathen was something of a predictor.  Bilocation is a skill I’d be keen to learn.  

I would like to buy tickets for Shakira and for Haim.  They both go on sale the same day.  Isn’t that always the way?!

Interaction becoming less and less.  I am a bit frightened by all these zombies.  But the grey-shirts were in full force and I was bad once again.  I think someone was whispering in my ear the other night.  in the midst of it all evil was reborn.  There are bugs inside of me.  Time is passing by and being filled with so much utter meaninglessness.  What is the place?  I would not have walked out if I saw a female pastor, ever.  I consumed some very spicy meat for lunch.  I know in my heart of hearts I will consume a similarly prepared plate of meat again at some point.  

I feel like crying right now over what a failure I am.  I think that first drink of the day is going to have to start before noon from now.  People and their worthless lives.  I suppose we all look for escapes from the pointless misery that is our existence.  Then there was blinding rage.  I am surrounded by fakes.  Am I the fakest of all?  Lucha Underground is on in the background.  Is Lucha the only thing which makes sense anymore?  There is oil running down my back.  I don’t know much about anything, that’s for damn sure.  Pynchon is somewhere next on the list.  I think I’ll watch Creepshow later on.  Tale of Tales reminded me of the power of a good anthology.  Now I want a good creepy pulpy anthology.  I think Creepshow will satisfy that desire.  

Probably Lodger now, a continual source of inspiration.  Walker too.  What have I done?  Is love lost?  Need to figure out the best way to tighten the snare on things.  I need it to be really dry.  Just about to snap!  Wrath of Khan really is one of the best submarine movies ever and I was just too much of a cranberry-loving moron to realize that earlier on.  What a classic!  

Vueltita vueltita vueltita vueltita vueltita!  Who was saying that?  I know and yet i don’t know.  Everything is through the glass.  Babyface.  Not the singer.  But in a completely different sense, yes, the singer.  Love the way it sounds. And looks so happy!  

Oh Marcela.  That little black dress, black heels and – perhaps most crucially – the hosiery and you stole my heart once again.  I willingly submit!  Oh God!  Oh yes!  I melt….  You own me!  

finish the screen

I don’t know where to begin.  I hope you’ll forgive me as I am under appreciable mental strain.  Though I suspect I’ll be writing about these things for a very long time; hopefully this will not be my only chance.  

She said thank you and blew a kiss.  This made me cry too.  I know I am deeply delusional.  What am I talking about?  

I really like Scream 4.  I’ve read 3 Burroughs books now.  Trying to do this shit nice and proper and chronological-like.  I am about to begin The Naked Lunch.  This excites me.  Michael Mann’s Miami Vice movie is quite underrated though I predict its stock will rise in the coming years.  It is a beautiful tone poem of a film.  I hear Scholastic is garbage when it comes to rhyming dictionaries and one should always go with Penguin. I prefer to give up on people because they’ll always disappoint you in the end.  That is simply their nature.  We’re awful.  Awful.  

Danny Elfman was just brought on board to provide the score for Justice League.  This is intriguing.  Elfman of course provided the scores for Tim Burton’s Batman movies and those remain some of my favorite movie scores of all time.  Though in recent years I feel Elfman’s scores have become a bit less…impactful.  This means Junkie XL is out which is a bit sad.  I loved his scores for Mad Max Fury Road and 300: Rise of an Empire and though the score he made (along with Hans Zimmer) for Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice wasn’t quite as good as those it still had very memorable themes for Lex Luthor and Wonder Woman.  In my fucking opinion that is!  I cannot recall a single thing about Elfman’s score for Whedon’s Avengers: Age of Ultron so I’m hoping he can bring back a little more of the bombast of his earlier work.  Or am i?  Heck, I liked a lot of what he did in Corpse Bride.  What a cute flick!  His Red Dragon score is interesting too!  What a shitty flick!  And his work on Hulk is unique!  What a great write I am, describing something as unique!  I miss the days where blockbusters were filled with grand sweeping memorable scores that were a character in their own right.  The recent Wonder Woman movie had a quite a good score so perhaps this is a good sign?!  I like his Sleep Hollow score.  I’m just gonna throw that in there.  Just throw it right the fuck in!

I’ve had Michael Mann’s 2009 flick Public Enemies on in the background all week.  It’s a film I’ve grown to admire greatly over the years though those who know me best know what an unabashed Mann fanboy I am.  Still, I find Christian Bale gives a great, undervalued and subtle performance here and it is one of the very last times I found Johnny Depp interesting.  Maybe the very last!  More importantly (for me) I adore Mann’s use of digital.  I think I loved it even when it was first released and so controversial but maybe that is my own revisionist history.  What a brave fucking film!  I love it!  I have it on right now and I realize I’ve undersold Depp in this because he’s actually great!  But what the fuck do I know?!  Gorgeous nighttime photography!  Same as Blackhat.  

I cannot keep from sinning.  I’ve got 74 million in cash and I’m writing code.  The question is: what for?  Suddenly and without warning I found myself in Malaysia (this was a stroke of luck as I was previously very worried about being arrested in the States for some war games in Thailand).  I’ve been on a bit of an Ice-T kick lately.  I find him to be a fresh and invigorating voice of the streets.  Fresh may not be the most appropriate of words as I’ve chiefly been listening to his work from the 80’s and early 90’s.  But maybe that’s what makes “fresh” the only word that fits!  I am intrigued by the new Body Count album.  Watched New Jack City the other day.  Seems youthful.  Not fully formed.  Still, Van Peebles has a bouncy, colorful, Lucky Charms or Trix cereal feel that I found playful, fun and frothy.  I sorta get it.  I don’t know.  Bounce bounc like a Yo-Yo.  That was a Vanity Fair reference there.  Not the magazine but to something else.  Red.  Fish.  Now I’m in Jakarta.  I am Mr. Misanthrope.  Richard Misanthrope is my name and I was tasked by secret and covert officials in tweed suits to hunt down three quasi men who previously robbed a data disk with 9000 kb’s of information which could upset not only the national political scheme but also foreign eastern fiscal policy.  I stopped by for a few drinks along the way and had brief  bit o’ fun with a Mexican prostitute.  Then I went home and made a sandwich but instead of eating it I just stared at it for a very long time and then decided it was time to turn in for the night.  Love disc 2 of the recent Purple Rain deluxe.  Electric intercourse.  That last Twin Peaks.  Perfection.  Still waiting on the new Encanto....

Tour dates announced my….  I think I’ll have to take out some money from those low risk mutual funds in which I invested.  Buying ore on the dollar.  Oh we are all so very sad.  Let’s devote the majority of our time to something we don’t care about.  That’s the ticket!  I gots to be careful.  Breach of contract is right around the corner.  It can be truly said that Ecuador has stolen my heart.  Ecuador in all it’s shininess.  Not just there though.  But often there.  I always look for the shine.  Did they play up the rivalry a sufficient amount?  The Jackal has the shininess again.  And opaque black hands.  Red on top.  My precious Rhapsody in Blue was the last great sin (I think).  We’ll never really see each other with the banshees.  But that’s okay.  The birth of evil inside nuclear destruction.  Nuclear birth.  Atomic birth.  I vomited out some eggs.  I wasn’t there when it (he? She?) died.   Her head was bleeding while – 

I don’t have the answers anymore.  I never did.  Haha, how trite, hahaha!  

pink cover (bit vulgar(

I was sitting there watching these people turn into crabs and surprised at how not terrified I truly was.  It could be because just a few seats down the bar there was a plump Mexican business woman wearing a white collared shirt, black neck tie, black skirt, black heels and pantyhose with one leg crossed over the other and I found it difficult to take my eyes off her.  Her hair was as black as her heels and she was sipping gingerly on a Singapore Sling and I did not have the temerity to approach her.  instead I turned my attention to the game of pocket billiards taking place directly behind and promptly made a bet the likes of which I could not pay with a traveling salesmen who said he was in town for something like a fascist convention and I could only chuckle and tell him my motorcycle was in the shop and if he wanted to talk politic he damn well better buy me another drink and maybe spring for a stick of beef jerky or something and I had just enough presence of mind to ask who the hell let all these gazelle and antelope inside the bar as they’d already tipped over twelve fucking drinks by last count.  I was on my fourteenth drink or something like that and I felt pretty good and I knew someone had given some pills but they did not make me feel anything.  The Mexican businesswoman was named Yamilia I think and I desperately wished to die and be reincarnated at that exact moment as the bar stool in which she currently rested her ample and hosiery clad derriere.  I dare not talk to her though. I think I was likely scared of the thinly wrapped bar of chocolate which I saw just out of the corner of my eye and which reminded me oh so far very much of the thin grey alien which had abducted me only the previous night and subjected me to all manner of horrifying and painful experiments and procedures.  Someone next to me inquired about anal probing at that exact moment but I shrugged them off and told them about a charity to which I’d donated to not several days before and which promised to help keep local kids off drugs.  I knew there were several local kids choking their last breaths right outside the bar at this exact moment and though I felt some semblance of sympathy for them I also knew I truly wanted nothing more than to consume a large bowl of frosted flakes and drive around an airport parking lot for four consecutive hours with the windows rolled down.  She had a mole on her face which I thought was very attractive.  

When I walked outside I was surprised to find how many were made of gold.  I made my way to a local hardware store where I proceeded to dance and two-step and wonder out loud about the best way to supplant local political impotency but by that moment there was already a bomb squad in place and I approached several prostitutes but none of them exactly fit the bill as the kids say and I recalled in that exact moment the words of a wiser man who indicated that research had indeed pierced all extremes of my sex.  Still, it was hard to argue with the diplomacy and there was one in particular whose shoes and fishnet pantyhose I wished to smell and I promptly offered her five dollars American for this joyous opportunity and when she scoffed at that idea I bumped it up to five hundred dollars American or her best offer and I held her used hosiery and shoes up to my face while her hand went  to work but my critical moment of pleasure was swiftly interrupted when I spotted a couple of man-sized lobsters practicing what I recognized as Brazilian ju-jitsu not twenty feet from my current location and I screamed and ran roughly 1.5 miles with my cock hanging out my rent trousers  flapping to and fro in accordance with the rhythm of my hurried steps.  

Sometime later and I furiously ejaculated into my rent trousers at that exact moment while I had 9 pairs of used pantyhose of various denier wrapper tightly around my face (along with one flesh colored pair stuff in my mouth and a black pair tied only around my mouth with a knot at the base of my neck to keep the flesh pair properly stuffed, both used) and I passed out for a moment and came dangerously close to suffocating and dying but at least it would have been while enveloped in glorious aromatic femininity and above me there is a poster of David Bowie which is the cover of his classic album “Heroes” and it is first thing I see after I wake up and all pull off all the precious hosiery and I scream out in a voice very guttural that for some reason does not sound like my own “The secret life of Arabia!” and then I burst into histrionic laughter when I realize it all comes from Burroughs but does it really?  White bullets.  Then I realize that everything is dada.  Everything is dada right in front of my fucking glazed over eyes and all I can do is thank the Lord for women’s feet and arches and heels.  There is Cronenberg film on the in background somewhere and soon it will probably be Mann and I think back and realize I would very much like to watch her make guacamole in front of me and lick it off her finger and then dip her foot in it and force me to eat it off her foot.  I’ve written about this before of course.  is there anything greater than hosiery?  Seams in the back running up curvy calves.  Reinforced heel-toe.  Shimmer.  Dangling as a high heel pump hangs precariously just off the tip of the big toe and then oh my God oh my sweet God it falls to the floor with a clank and then there is fast semen pumping action.  I do apologize for the vulgarity.  Black Panther looks fucking great.  

don't like the new city of gold (not edited again bc no one cares, especially yours falsely!)

Boy do I hate myself.  I don’t think I could ever possibly hate anyone as much as I hate myself.  Very soon I think I need to squeeze some medium sized plastic bottles.  I was raging this morning over some very  innocuous things.  Lunar Park so far is a great book.  I would recommend it to anyone who fancies herself or himself a writer.  I am very much looking forward to Wonder Woman this Thursday.  Those folks getting mad over the Alamo theatre screenings are morons.  I am constantly taken aback at how many morons there are in the world and the depth of their idiocy, myself included of course.  I need to keep running.  I need help and guidance.  I can’t give anything up.  Jazz music is playing in the background.  And there are giant insects. Lets play William Tell after I’ve had a few drinks!  

There were pink hubcaps inside my brain and I hated to say a certain name(s) so many times but I was still forced to and I kept wanting to slam my head against the mirror and I quite liked the idea of it drawing blood and then I would laugh or something.  I don’t feel about it.  that’s what I told my doctor.  But maybe I should feel bad about it.  I need to see my doctor again.  A Zappa Beefheart Mothers album arrived in the mail today and I look forward to listening to it but where the heck is my Bergman film?  Maybe I’ll eat coconut later.  oh we are all so very awful.  hahaha, that’s me laughing to and about myself.  We do things for absolutely no reason.

You are deluding yourself my friend.  My word, I just realized no one actually cares, we’ve just all convinced ourselves to go through the motions.  How can I take this?  I was driving by a lake earlier and there was something awful about it.  thankfully, Miles Davis was playing and made things a bit less awful.  I see my lifeless body dangling from the ceiling.  Please forgive the thought process.  Maybe later on I’ll go out and buy some crap I don’t need.  Don’t pull the oxygen tank out of the bone under my face!  I can’t breathe!!!  I keep a mirror in my shoe.  There was a tireiron dancing the hokey pokey right outside my door and I proceeded to walk outside and scorch myself under a blazing blue sun.  I tell you it scorched like a thousand evil mad sorcerers.  We are drifting away.  Let’s go on a date!  My fault, my fault.  I didn’t get the joke.  

I just watched an interview with Ray Liotta.  Or did I? Only time will tell.  Stupid fucking dinosaurs.  I realized then we are living in an awful world. We are covering up everything.  walking how many miles because you are you are a whiny thing.  The repetition was intentional.  It was the antacids that drove me insane.  Emboss me!  Hahaha, that made me laugh out loud so hard I bit my tongue off and then promptly mailed it to a woman who works in a public place who I’ve long had a crush on!  Two postage stamps!  That’s my trademark.  I very nearly papercut my eye!  That would have really put a damper on my already miserable evening!  Boy I’m a worthless person.  

Most people view me as a protector of chimps but the truth is I desperately want to buy a powder blue suit and pair it with a yellow tie but I know I could never pull it off due to my fat disgusting body and the fact that it is regrettably always paired with my ugly-as-fuck face!  Don’t make me kiss a dead guy’s jewelry!  Who is that strange man talking to me from my wall?  Ahhh medium.  I love putting a fan on medium and letting it blow in my fat ugly face.  Gyroscopes make virtual reality even better!  

I hate myself beyond belief. There is a great movie on in the background right now and it stars Rebecca Hall who is an actress I greatly admire.  I listened to part of an album called Bongo Fury today.  Tomorrow I hope to listen to the rest of it.  I recommend it to anyone who likes great things.  The first half of Low sums it all up, often exactly how I feel.   I think in another life I was probably a bag of muffins or a plate of multicolored cupcakes.  In another life maybe I was successful.  In another life maybe I was happy.  I must return to the swamp.  Maybe I’ll watch Santa Sangre again later today.  There is a part in there that reminds me a bit of a part from the movie Inferno (an underrated work by Argento in my humble and utterly worthless opinion).  I need to buy an upright bass and wear a funny hat.  I need to cook up some sausages.  Love a cookout!  But which I will do first!?  only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right berries.  Those three things can cure anything.  I’m in love with Gina Carano.  I sprayed some Oxi-Clean on my door today and stood there for 11 minutes looking at it.  I got up early to read but I didn’t.  it’s not what it seems but it is.  the CD case fell of my head and hit the floor.  Lets fight about a cheeseburger.  Malapropisms are running rampant these days.    Headscissors with hosiery; how wonderful.

 Brian was quite right in that we haven’t gone any farther than this. What a bizarre desire, to be drilling through the Spiritus Sanctus tonight.  Is there any familiarity there?  I think I’m going to start eating paste.  Label me a paste-eater if you must, if that makes you comfortable.  Oh you humans and your labels.  

The movie Haywire is on in the background.  I love this film.  I need it in my life.  I just found a great list related to another great thing.  It feels like one large work just split up into 18 parts.  I am salivating in anticipation.  My posh flat is flooded with saliva due to all my anticipation and now I have to traverse my humble home via canoe.  

Still need to get that XFL tattoo.  I hate me so fucking much!!!!!  

night ainting (unedited because who really cares?!)

I would like to be treated by a therapist who openly mocks me.  I’ve often longed to have therapy sessions with someone who’s named starts with the letter M but only in an alternate reality where the name would not start with that letter.  How much sense does that make?  I imagine some seafood oriented dinners whilst we are somewhere near the Palazo Vechio.  Oh, is it that type of party?  Screwdriver straight to the brain.  No, not a screwdriver.  Something else.  

There was a factory.  I think he loves factories and machinery and gears and working parts and wood.  I know for a fact that he loves wood.  

It was necessary to remove metal and evacuate spheres.  Even with the spheres taken care of there is still the psychology to consider.  Psychology.  How richly appropriate.  

I listened to the album Binaural by Pearl Jam a fair amount today.  I find it to be one of the most difficult discs in their catalogue but something still keeps me coming back.  I also listened to a fair bit of What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye.  It is still a perfect album.  I attempted to learn the basslines from Breakerfall from the former and What’s Happening Brother from the latter.  I was much more successful at one than the other.  Jeff Ament and James Jamerson are both awesome and inspiring bassists.  

Doing God’s work.  Are you going to deny God?  Two complete opposite sources.  One beautiful and one almost impossibly ugly.  I must do my best to forget the ugly one.  That is all.

I took a long walk down a taupe colored labyrinth and this was commented on.  I could only stare in one direction the entire time.  Why, oh why?!  This is a question I always ask though it does not bother to ask.  We all love temptation.  Everything was very soothing.  There was colored smoke which entered my pores and filled me with affordable renewable energy.  Opposite this there was a graceful waterfall spilling over some rocks.  Graceful is an interesting word here; not quite a root word, that is not the right way to put it but I think I know what I mean.  Little card.  Those were amazing and so tall.  They was almost a familiar and joyous pattern, it was so close.  Close enough.  

There were teal mountains and burnt sienna.  These came to mind later on but at the time also.  So many questions and history and joyous not tedious at all paperwork.  I was working on the finals in high school and college and there was only 5 minutes left and I was not going to be able to finish and it gave me a kind of giddy excitement.  I felt the same thing today, didn’t I, I ask to myself?!  I had to go to one place to pick up one small thing (it was actually two small things, thin as paper) and then I had to take said thing to a place and that place would send the things to the original place but it all went so very wrong so I no choice but to return to the place and then venture back to the original place, back to where this thick gorgeous madness all began.  Oh, he fell so very madly in love.  Everything was swaying back and forth.  Black and turquoise and black again.  

Queen Isis.  I suppose it started with her but she is far from the end of it. Skirt is sometimes better, right?  But now, after that fateful number everything is in such clarity.  You know, I wanted to name a pet Tiffany.  Would that have been wrong? 

I finished a rather lovely tome.  I imagine loving and comforting arms at the moment of my death and wonder if I deserve.  I would likely conclude that no, I don’t deserve that.  I think I cried several times today but who can really be sure and more importantly who really gives a flying fuck?!  That is the question (I have no face).  I must do more reading in regards to various places and sightings.  I don’t suppose I matter very much, do I?  I do love the little flip over the top rope.  Oh, I am so unbelievably awful.  Everyone who knows me must hate me.  I am a disgusting ugly awful.  I hate myself so much.  Did I cry yesterday? Probably.  I am just a colossal ugly worthless fuckup.  Nothing more but possibly something less.  I need to remember to recommend that friend of a friend the graphic novel I mentioned at the birthday party. Oh I am fucking ugly and stupid and worthless. Sometimes I feel like I’m choking, like I actually cannot breathe and it is because of how fucking stupid and repulsive and ugly and disgusting and useless I am.  Fuck I fucking hate myself so fucking much. 

At last 10:08 (reverse two of those numbers) arrives and I am elated though at the same time my rich doom may be sealed.  Every square can be made out.  It was wrapped around my head while it was still on the glass.  

Tactile.  I must stick things to it and then  and then add the colors.  I need the texture and fullness of it all.  this can be a tribute to everything.  every small minor tiny thing.  

And I’ll be back tomorrow!  Isn’t the most crazy damndest thing of all!?  You never learn!  Someone said that to me in liquid form.  A prophet was making guacamole.  Guacamole was then in her shoes by grace and stayed there throughout the entire day before being forcibly inserted into his mouth at the end of the day while she berated him!  Prophet to prophet perhaps?!  

He was not expecting one so full and volumptuos!  How could he?!  So tempestuous!  So wonderous!  Delete the address!  Delete the address.  Tomorrow morning then guac then coffee then spheres.  (P)

Tactile again.  Yes, tactility.  If I only something could be sculpted from all your chewed chewing and/or bubblegum.  If only I could be a piece of gum that you chewed (after you recently ate chips or something similarly crunchy) and then spit out and then accidentally stepped on wit those.  Tactile.  Yes, to be crushed between your teeth.  

I love Tim Burton’s original Batman!  Great pop art feel!  I love the Prince soundtrack for it!  Keaton is still the best Batman.  BY FAR!!!  Basquiat’s paintings and Mark Rothko’s paintings I love!  

I watched the documentary David Lynch: The Art Life yesterday and found it to be most inspiring.  The new season of Twin Peaks has made me appreciate and even love Inland Empire.  And by that I mean I also love the new Twin Peaks season!  I guess I’m just a fanboy!  I don’t care!  Love!  Inspiration!  Art!

Maybe I should just watch Barry Lyndon again!  Too late!  

OMG!!! He was vomiting up pain and sorrow in the form of creamed corn!!!

How can I possibly write about something so inscrutable?  

3 was my favorite I think.  If someone would put a gun to my head I would definitely say 3 was my favorite.  I was recently in the home of a beloved friend and I playfully put a gun to my head.  A big black gun.  It actually belonged to someone other than my friend though it was there in a nice box for safe keeping.  It was an unusual sensation.  We discussed what a poor day for him it’d be if I’d actually gone through with it or if an accident had taken place. Likely, there would have been a long moment of stark shock mingled with the toxic flowing silence immediately following the big bang (not the hypothetical creation of the universe).  Then there would be the necessary phone call(s) along with plentiful and uncomfortable explanation to uniforms and folks in the inner circle.  It would certainly necessitate alternate sleeping arrangements for several nights and perhaps a total upheaval of a freshly painted interior (I was present for only a very small part of that though we did joyously make time for black coffee and looking at some beautiful women wearing fishnet hosiery, one of several fatal weaknesses for yours falsely.  But am I talking about of the coffee or the fishnet hosiery or somehow radically both?).  

But yes, 3 was definitely it.  I came to that conclusion after talking to an electric tree which had a flesh growth on top.  Don’t go all Freudian on me, please!  Sometimes a glass box is just a glass box!  I love the expansiveness of a freeway passing through a scorching desert.  And where the hell was I?  Was I out in space or something?  This is precisely what makes everything so great and necessary and proves once and for all what a worthless individual I am.  I was following a woman with no eyes to the very top.  The cover story was loosey goosey.  That man disappeared in a puff of smoke and southern fried screams some twenty-six odd years ago.  Who killed her?  She looked damn fine!  And a bit like someone I knew but I could not place it.  Thank You so much for this! 

There was a sensation of a large mound of guacamole being forcefully inserted into my mouth whilst I screamed in primal fear and mortal agony.  

I guess those were the events as they unfolded.  There was the possibility of a sweet betrayal.  If there existed the possibility of a white collared shirt with long sleeves – a glorious return of such – then this betrayal would be much more guaranteed.  Traitor.  Treachery.  It’s okay. I’ve dealt with industrial saboteurs before.  Oh, if only.  You should have warned me!  I nearly watched that movie about noodles the other day.  It seemed richly appropriate.  There was a real tactile desire there.  This was created with a very tactile approach.  Close proximity.  Yellow.  Cornflower.  Yellow and black.  Durcal.  Not quite Durcal but you get the idea, don’t you?  It all comes down to secret codes.  There was a whole history created in that moment.  A history which has never and will never happen except all at once and for always.  There were drinks and dancing and laughing and long lovely nights where the morning remained light years away.  And then she was in his arms while the pigs were kept at bay and then he was resting his dark sleek head against her shoulder.  

I am looking forward to Shakira’s new album later this week.  I’m still constantly listening to Sofia Rei’s De Tierra y Oro album.  That album came at the perfect time and calms my restless and worthless spirit.  And damn!  Jorge Roeder’s bass playing on that release is some of the best and most sumptuous my waxy earholes have been blessed to hear!  And the production by those two really lets that gorgeous upright bass sound breathe as it should.  If only I lived in a purple tinged apartment with a purple ocean outside and where every day and every moment was nighttime!  I think I need to listen to more Frank Zappa.  

When I saw my own shadow was evil born?  Please don’t let this intense feeling of inspiration be taken away!  I am so very unworthy.  

I think it looks rather silly when a guitarist or bassist wears a trench coat on stage while playing.  That’s just my opinion, folks!  Please don’t crucify me just for having an opinion.  We should all hit the treadmill once in a while!  Anyone for tennis?!  Gotta love Looney Tunes!

I need to buy and voraciously read that trilogy penned by Henry Miller.  How could I have been so ignorant, filthy and degenerate?!  All I’ve ever read by him is Tropic of Cancer!  Depressingly predictable, am I right?  Yes, I am not very well read.  I am in blunt terms a fucking idiot!  But maybe there is still time to turn it all around.  Maybe there’s still time to save me from myself and get my head on straight!  

Is sex always the gateway to evil?  Is that moment in the blue when we discovered the empire inside of us comparable to that gold-panning man climbing up through the window and entering surreptitiously?  There was pleasure at first.  And then suspicions and then questions.  And finally, there was screaming.  I did something horrifying yesterday but I know it was actually tomorrow.  

I saw that very same red lamp at a dingy strip club once.  I left as she was about to go on stage.  I’m not talking about the lamp.

I like Martin Scorsese’s remake of Cape Fear quite a lot.  Robert De Niro and Juliette Lewis give electrifying performances!   What a colorful film. Literally.  Ol’ Marty’s direction and the cinematography is so super ultra-flashy almost to the point of inducing a minor headache!  But I liked that aspect.  The whole thing was the right amount of over the top.  I’m just not a very good writer.    

The Twin Peaks premiere was amaze-balls as the youngsters like to say.  I was up til all mad-monkey hours of the morning.  Four hours I lived there.  Tears of joy.  Pure.  Love.  It felt very much like the serialized television equivalent of a latter day Scott Walker song!  You know, something from Tilt or The Drift or Bish Bosch.  That is most assuredly a very good thing. 

“What the hell?”  What a line!  Perfectly delivered.  

1,265

So I saw Alien: Covenant last night.  I love the poster. 

A few years on and it hit me like a sack of bricks while I was driving: Curse of Chucky is a shockingly satisfying movie, especially considering it is the sixth entry in a horror series!  Fiona Dourif was great!  Great!  I look forward to Cult of Chucky out later this year and it is currently the only thing I have to stay my hand after Twin Peaks concludes at the end of summer.  We’ll see if it is strong enough.    

The super card of honor.  Eleven.  I would have shown up at 5 PM Eastern.  But would I have left promptly at 6:30 PM (also Eastern?).  That is the interesting question (only to me).  Truly, only the Underground is getting it right as far as that goes.  I’m of course only referring to the continental U.S.  It was quite good.  Quite quite good.  I would have stayed an eternity for merch, photographs and felt tip pens.  As we traverse further down these dreams I catch them at just the right moment.  Afterward.  From one identity to another.  Don’t (talking to myself) use a word that’s like “change”.  After the work, after the job.  Perfume.  Going to simply toss.  I make an offer.  No object.  Breathe it in.  deep.  

Director James Wan has released a couple pictures of Amber Heard as Mera from his upcoming Aquaman movie and all I can say is humina humina humina!  Joy! 

Tom Hardy is playing Venom in a Venom solo movie!  That is weird!  Good casting though!  Gimme a nice mean beefy Venom!  Can’t be any worse than Spider-Man 3!  Actually, yeah it can because both Amazing Spider-Man movies were worse and it is Sony at the helm again!  I hope we get a lot of references to Todd McFarlane’s classic art and another bizarre voice from Hardy! 

Too much thinking of Kong lately.  And I’m not talking about the cinema icon.  And there’s The Little Star, returning to haunt my dreams again.  The most pretty.  Also, the most….   

And just like that.  After seeing a quickly made, colorful and gaudy poster I realize I’m living in the wrong place. What a fool I am.  What I’ve always been.  What a fool I’ll always be.

Yes, we are finally seeing remastered blu ray releases of Suspiria and Don’t Torture a Duckling!  Thank You!!!  Thank You so much!!! 

The violent seizure of someone’s property is my bold new obsession!  Don’t forget the accent over the n.  Blue or black.  And Dern.  Dern is also part and parcel of this boldness and newness.  The pages were tall.  Oh, the UK and its crazy tall periodicals. 

I think O is the answer.  Avid followers of my worthless work will know exactly what that means.  O is the example I need to follow for everything else.  For the real Jackal.  For my Rhapsody in Blue.  Heaven scent.  O is the proof positive of everything.  but is it really O or a doppelganger from an alternate dimension?  Would that make a difference? Or would that be preferable?  

Twin Peaks starts up again this Sunday.  I’ve been slowly but surely going through the old series, this time with a drinking buddy.  I’ve discovered nuance I missed in my initial viewings.  I am reassessing and reevaluating.  I’m drinking a lot of coffee and eating a lot of pie.  I am saddened that Lynch said he will likely never make another movie.  Since his last flick – Inland Empire – came out in 2006 I am inclined to believe him.  Yet I am grateful for what is to come and filled with girlish glee over this upcoming 18-episode saga.  

Forced kissing.  Green.  Escape.  The last one won’t make much sense after a while.  

Rabbit sitcoms.  I guess I need to look within.  It is something very easy to admire but not easy to like or love.  And good heavens, is it ever ugly!  But is there a kind of rough beauty in the ugliness?  I think so.  If I want shock value I guess I better look in the mirror.  We’re all just whores dying in the street.  Brutal fucking murder!  The hour of the wolf is nigh.  I am filled with curiosity.  Experiment is the proper word.  The end result is endlessly fascinating.  If only I could get my hands on those polish tunes.  Get it in wax!  It is certainly a bizarre denouement.  Of course, I say to myself as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  

I really like that Bowie b-side Holy Holy. Is it a b-side?  Whatever, I like it.  Rapine, just in case I forget.  Won’t forget the accent though. 

Sofia Rei’s album De Tierra Y Oro is so gorgeous and necessary right now.  She has a new album out, a tribute to Violeta Parra.  I need to purchase this immediately! And Café Tacuba’s new album!  There! I just ordered the new Café Tacuba album!  Rei is next on my list! And Shakira’s new album comes out in a week!  And she just released that song “Nada”!  Damn, that is a beautiful song!  Classic Shakira!  Gave me all the right feels!  Or did it?  Lots of sunny and lovely Latin tunes for yours falsely as of late! 

Maybe I need to do TM.  Is that a viable option?  Would it be a helpful option?  Would I be able to catch bigger fish if I started? I have a thousand dollars lying around.  I should purchase a word.  Or should I begin an epic journey into Ju-Jitsu?!  I would probably fail at both avenues.  

So the trailer for the new Star Trek show Star Trek Discovery premiered yesterday and everyone got their knickers in a twist about it!  Or did they?!  Honestly, it’s hard for me to gauge popular reaction sometimes.  Partly because I’m a miserable worthless failure but also partly because I’m not very intelligent or perceptive.  But what is my reaction?  That is the big question that literally no one is asking.  Immediately, I am excited simply at the prospect of having a new Star Trek show after what feels like an eternity since those dark days of Star Nemesis and then Enterprise fading way (though I actually adored that Troi was unexpectedly in the final episode as I’ve long considered Deanna Troi to be one of the great loves of my life).  I am immediately chagrinned it is another prequel series, seemingly taking place after Enterprise and before the original series.  Did we need another prequel series?!  I only hope and pray it does not have the same feel as the newer Abram Star Trek movies as I have slowly begun to despise those.  Woe is me.  But overall, I’m damn excited!  How could not I be?!  I’m always excited for any new iteration of Trek and the trailer had all kinds of good glossy shiny slickness!  And Klingons (though I’m not crazy about their design)!  And Michelle Yeoh!  She’s awesome!  I will try to remain Roddenberryish optimistic and go in with an open heart and mind!

I actually liked the Black Lightning trailer better!  Looks like that’s another damn series I’ll have to watch!

Finally. Sadly.  I saw you several years ago at Red Rocks in Colarado. Soundgarden and Nine Inch Nails.  That is a good memory.  Great show.  I saw you last year by yourself in a little theatre across from an Italian bistro.  Lovely show.  Soundgarden.  Temple of the Dog.  Audioslave.  Solo albums.  Everything in between.  Thanks for all the music, concerts and memories.  RIP Chris Cornell.  

right after, please drop the bridge on me

When I woke up this morning I walked over to the balcony and admired the gorgeosity of the day.  I felt like it was for me.  Still, my strongest desire was to crawl back into bed, grab a gun and blow my brains out.  I did not follow that path.

I errored.  Hot damn, did I error.  Multiple errors in so many different ways.  I did what Roland sometimes accused people of doing.  How I loathe myself.  

His tallywacker suckin’ is all she wants.  

World War Z was a giant pile of crap so I am beyond heartbroken that David Fincher has decided to further degrade his once great career by directing the sequel!  I half-kid. WWZ was indeed awful but I guess Fincher hasn’t degraded himself that much.  Still, with Benjamin Button, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Gone Girl and now this I must simply resign myself to the fact that the Fincher of yore who made such great films as Seven, Zodiac and even The Social Network (which to be fair did come after Benjamin Button) no longer exists.  Oh Fincher, why have you forsaken me?!  

The Shining is one of my favorite movies of all time.  I can’t deny that.  I wouldn’t even dream of denying it.  

It’s happening again.  The morning sun on their faces really shows their age.  I don’t like actor Sean Penn but I caught the 90’s movie Dead Man Walking on the ol’ television recently.  Good flick.  

She looked like Barbi.  Not the doll though.  I ain’t talking about the doll.  Or maybe it wasn’t exactly like her.  I think it was though, maybe an older version.  Maybe a version from several years later.  there was a moment of comfort.  She showed me her soul.  Soul isn’t quite right.  I think it is something similar though.  There is a plurality.  Where were?  Something catastrophic had maybe just happened.  It was a wonderful moment no unlike real life. 

Those who follow my worthless work no doubt recall I am a huge fan of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series.  I’ve read the entire series a whopping two times and plan to reread it before the movie comes out in August.  However I was not convinced at all by the recently released trailer.  Woe is me.  Idris Elba and Matthew M look perfectly cast as Roland Deschain and his foil Randall Flagg AKA The Man in Black but other than that…whatever, I lost interest in my thoughts.  Love the books.  Movie doesn’t look great.  I like some of the music.  I like the casting.  I’ll still be there opening night.  I’m such a useless person. 

I was just trying to show.  Trying to provide a clear example.  The before and after.  The great nothing.  The ease with which it was all (not) accomplished.  But I was robbed on this chance.  Deservedly so.  There was black and then blue, my Rhapsody in Blue.  And now there is only the Jackal and the Witch and my eyes are on both.  He knows that she saw him.  He is an ugly pathetic thing.  

Marcela.  Love. 

Tomorrow – and by tomorrow I mean a couple days ago – the book A New Model: What Confidence, Beauty and Power Really Look Like by Ashley Graham goes on sale wherever books are sold and promises to be a collection of “insightful, provocative essays”.  The chances that I will purchase this book and read it are high.  It will likely not be the next book I read however I will gingerly toss it onto the stack and occasionally salivate like a rabid dog over the photos.  For years now I’ve had a highly inappropriate and dangerous obsession with Ashley Graham and it is certain this tome will only send me further down that rabbit hole.  I’m currently eking my way through The Virgin Suicides.  Sadly, I must confess I am barely lukewarm on that book but we’ll see how it turns out.  

The one big exception to my rule is Mike Patton’s 2010 album Mondo Cane.  This was recorded with an orchestra but it is not a giant steaming pile of crap like other rock albums recorded with orchestra.  Though to be fair, it is certainly not a straight rock album so maybe it’s not quite the exception I believe it to be.  Maybe it’s finally time to end it all.  Love the album though. 

The shininess of Ecuador.  Or should it be shimmering.  I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.  Few do.  How long have I been waiting?  Feels like centuries.  All four.  Four in one.  But so many others.  With tasers.  Laughing.  And then there was the Baby Puma.  But different this time.  Bedecked in iconography.  Not a flag, not quite.  But I looked up in the sky and saw so many stars and my response was immediate.  I cannot keep from sinning.  Denier and sweat.  My life comes down to only a couple things.  I have no few reasons left to live.  Those are a couple.  Wilt Stillman is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorites.  He is 3 for 3 right now.  3 PERFECT for 3 PERFECT.  It’s hard to choose a favorite from what I’ve seen.  Maybe the last days of disco.  Barcelona will be en route very soon.  

I love the Hellboy movies.  Did you know that?  How could you.  They are two great movies.  I was chagrinned to hear the recent announcement that there is a cinematic reboot in the works and director Guillermo Del Toro and star Ron Perlman will no longer be involved.  For decades I’d been hoping for a third and final film from that team but I suppose I will have to content myself with two perfect flicks.  I do think the reboot has potential to be quite good and gritty and with much more of an R-rated horror slant.  Neil Marshall is a good choice of director for this and the dude from Stranger Things has the head shape!  I will remain optimistic that we will get great Hellboy films!  Though I suspect that Guillermo and Ron will forever remain the Tim and Michael of this universe in my ugly and miserable heart of hearts.

  
I’ve got a wonderful life, two kids of my own!  

The most recent and last Wonder Woman trailer still got me excited and gave me the good feels despite its use of a typically horrible Imagine Dragons song!  

Me excited for new Shakira album.  El Dorado.  I like that title.  Actually, i fucking love that title!  Hopefully I fucking love the album.  Only time will tell.  

I am still a worthless individual.  

And just like that, there’s another new preview for the new Twin Peaks series.  Oh man I so fucking pumped and ready for this!  Lynch, my life for you!  

I have a nice steady stream of hip shit to keep me alive for the next few weeks: Alien Covenant next week followed Twin Peaks premiere that weekend followed by Shakira’s new album the following week and Wonder Woman the week after.  Then, once Twin Peaks has finished, will I at last do what is obviously the only right thing to do and throw myself into the river?