Red cylinders.

 Eating a pomegranate.  Thought my head was going to explode.  For my entire life I’ve been terrified of houses, bedrooms, and doorways.  And beds when it’s dark.  I don’t have any memories of my foreign travels from the 60’s.  or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Vicious cycle right now.  Need to read less weird shit.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Recently finished Rose Madder by Stephen King.  I loved that book and found the protagonist to be very fully realized.  I love the show Killjoys so much, it fills me with happiness.  I need it in my life.  I was reading Batman Odyssey at some point.  Great Neal Adams artwork.  Neal never lost his touch in my opinion.  He never faded.  Zany stuff.  Don’t know why it took me so long but I’ve been reading Frank Miller’s Ronin for the first time.  Miller is so great.  And Lynn Varley’s colors.  Love.   Cars.  Thinking back to the last autumnal and winter seasons.  The time has passed.  Though I do enjoy the work that was produced during that time.  Cutups.  While watching a female centric martial arts film.   A salad tossed me!  Not me.  Someone recently asked me if I would like to be cut in half.  Memories of a plush avocado and a beautiful laugh.  Seafood.  I bought several cans of dolphin safe chunk light tuna recently and didn’t realize it was in vegetable oil and not water.  It took the consumption of several cans to realize my mistake.  Then recently I went back to the store and bought several more cans though this time I made sure they were in water.  I learn from my mistakes.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  A cube of cold air to my left.  Herded like cattle.  Esoteric texts.  Multiple languages no one understands.  Languages no one speaks.  A tube extracted my stomach juices.  Why.  Primitive.  Voices talking to us from the ceiling.  Voices echoing from a radio that wasn’t turned on.  Started there then throughout the room, vibrating from the walls. Someone inside the walls talking to me and then someone threatening to kick my ass.  I hate thinking about my childhood.  A shelf lined with human skulls and art books.  Interesting.  Not mine.  The rot of it all.  Rot must be incorporated.  Mix.  Sweat.  Remember skin.  Need to get at something real.  Dread when the sun goes down.  Travels to Africa.  Jungle travels.  Truth in experiments.  Fractured knowledge.  Hidden knowledge.  Need to go to a diner and drink coffee and discuss powder.  Things only become real when they are dreadfully unsettling.  Terrifying.  When you can taste the fear, mouth full of it.  Travels in foreign countries.  Travels in the continental US in a dense city.  Amazing what one can find in a dense city.  Even blue eyes across stark black and white.  In a dense city a stairwell can be frightening.  Up or down.  Can take you to very strange places. What if the dimensions don’t add up properly and you find yourself entering into impossible rooms?  Not me.  The production on Tom Petty’s album Full Moon Fever is very clean.  

How do conmen (and conwomen) work?  The art of the con.  What are the necessary details.  What’s in the details.  The details are everything.  Word choice is so key.  Infecting minds.  Covert agencies infecting minds.  Mechanics. Devices.  Wires.  They put something on my head.  It was like a bowl, like a silver bowl.  No, that’s not quite right.  Connected to cable, thick black cable.  With wire connecting the cable and the bowl and other wires not as thick as the cable also connected.  I saw lots of colors.  The room was  a mess.  Clothes on the floor and what looked like adult diapers, soiled.  I though the place smelled awful, spoiled and like excrement and sweat. But when they put the thing on my head I wasn’t smelling anything.  Still, a big mess.   Big stain on the floor to the right of me.  Wine?  Maybe. Blood.  Paint.  Don’t know.  Someone was hunched down in the corner.  Arms wrapped around themselves and rocking back and forth.  Who was this person.  They looked covered in mud or something.  No, their skin is actually black.  The color black.  Oh god, they’re look at me.  Eyes all white, skin all black.  Rocking back and forth and looking at me.  And they put the thing on my head and they’re asking me questions.  

I probably wouldn’t have ordered that kat book if I’d known how fucking huge it was going to be.  No comfortable way to read that thing.  It’s all about comfort with me.  And tossing salads.  And big cellulite laden thighs crammed into fishnet hosiery.  To the right of me, on a chair, rests a book with a yellow cover. 

I suspect many answers can be found between the covers of old discontinued magazines and old out of print books.  Hidden knowledge.  Secrets knowledges.  Buried in the sands of time.  I really like the band AC DC.  I really like Mexican recording artist Ana Barbara’s legs, especially when she wears hosiery.  I might go to a bar later on.  I like wasting my life away in bars.  I’m pathetic. 

Need to give something name.  something grey seems appropriate but also terrifying.  How does the secret guard itself.  Conspiratorial thinking.  Everything ultimately points in one direction.  I love redacting and I love when things are redacted.  I find redacting in general to incredibly hilarious. Humanity is so sad and funny.  I’m never actually happy.  But that’s okay.  Paper cup holding several black #2 pencils.  Wildflowers has I guess what we would think of as warmer less glossy production.  Hmmm, or maybe glossy but in a different way.  Need to dig out those big art books.  I really like eating pasta.  I haven’t eaten pasta in a while and I’m starting to miss it.  Noodles.  Chaff clouds.  Honey comb skulls.  Sugary cereals.  Redacted documents.  Basement flooding and ruining a massive collection of jazz records.  Oh the glories of wet and rotting cardboard!  The glories of used pantyhose!   I need to firmly jam both index fingers into my nostrils and think about triangles for a while!  Animal or man?  I was watching a man expertly and effortless carve up a massive tuna fish and I was utterly mesmerized.  Or was I? the more I learn the less I want to know.  

sno

 

Purple crocodiles have me.  The hips of Chiquibaby are one of the few things keeping me alive these days.  Still tempted by the 36.  But I know deep down, deep in my asshole, that I would just decide to cash in my chips one night and blow my worthless brains out.  So why resist?  I need to eat some red meat today.  Now I see the fallacy, the great mistake.   Only for you I don’t regret.  My brain normalized it.  I had the chance for something good and true and raw but I waited and it was all normalized. 

Purple crocodiles and monochromatic film.  Castles.  Understanding now why it all felt so stagey.  But these things bled into one another.  I scream someone’s name and then declare that we have got to get the fuck out of here! 

So lovely but I know that none of it is real.  This is a place of fantasy where I go to numb true emotion.  The glasses are a nice touch.  As is the look of disappointment.  But it can’t be real.  Heart beneath the exclamation mark.  I walk in, hair looks good.  I’m sweaty.  Purple shirt I have. More purple.  Already mentioned glasses are a nice touch.  I have a thick paperback in my hand.  The old paper is pleasing to the olfactory sense.  Immersed.  I was reading a Stephen King novel.  One that I’ve never read before from a very interesting period of his career during the 1990’s.  I believe it may be his lowest selling novel.  I’ve heard very mixed things about it.  I’m halfway through it but I’m loving it so far.  The supernatural element of it actually reminds me a bit of a few of Clive Barker’s big novels.  I also thought of Lisey’s Story, one of my favorite King novels and one of my favorite King adaptations.  I also thought of something else but I’m too dumb to remember what.   

Double whiskey.  With ice.  I think I said with ice.  Sometime I’m too self conscious to say on the rocks.  Just one?  Forgot the previous line.  Closing it out.  Closing it out.  Not much will.  Deluding myself.  Could have just passed on by like nothing.  But I’m not truly resolute.  Just one?  So sweet.  So lovely.  So convincing.  Cold glass.  Fingertips.  Condensation.  Dirty pages.  Throaty laugh.  Real.  Beautiful.  Everything immaculate.  So sweet.  But I’m not real.  Don’t look.  So close now but just don’t look.  Look away.  Slept with sable. 

Later on in my car I was consumed by self loathing.  At one point I was listening to the song kiss me.  Everything was fantasy.  Wasn’t numb enough.  That was the problem.  That’s the problem with the false will.  You end up with nothing.  Need to stop going.  Need to stop torturing them.  Offer the blissful relief.  Never show up again.  That is the only right and proper thing to do. 

A refuge from the real world.  But they both hurt.  Genuine article and the fake version.  Both are painful, miserable, without any hope or reward.  Of course there is no reward.  I don’t deserve any reward.  That’s not a problem at all.  The numbing agent is the only good thing.  But I don’t have to make someone miserable in order to utilize the services of that agent.  Mask of sweetness.  But not deception.  items of real value exchanged for currency plain.  There is something to be said for classic professionalism.  I think.  But stop with the joking.  You are a fool.  You are a classic fool.  Need to die.  Corner idiot.  By you I mean me, I, myself.  Stop being a source of misery. 

Of course then, the ball.  Flesh merging.  Not the right word.  Changes.  Flesh changing.  New face.  Doll, someone said.  Doll’s face.  Everything perfect.  Eye contact hard.  Remembering bare.  Knowing glance when bare.  Lovely.  Smile.  Lovely smile.  Ball.  It would be so sweet.  Of course it would be because it’s all imagined.  All fake.  None of it real.  I need mazzy.  Fade.  Melt.  Give in. of course not possible.  Nothing could ever be real.  Driving back, wistful.  Good that I left.  If only I’d never gone.  Wish I could just expel my memory from everyone’s minds.  Just eliminate my existence in all directions.  That is the glorious ideal. 

Kept coming back.  Kept checking.  Even after.  So courteous.  Professionality.  Makes everything worse.  Good to disappear.  Asked twice.  Asked twice because I am rot inside.  Recent, hand on back.  I don’t want anyone to see me.  Even that is a lie.  I can’t fucking stop lying.  Collapse into.  That would never work.  There is nothing underneath.  The disgust.  The revulsion.  They must see.  Entering. 

Then silly.  Later on.  Stage play makes a lot of sense.  First chunk rather glorious.  Fluttering through the window.  Drift off to sleep with the assistance of some bounty hunters.  Have to stay on point.  Felt so said.  Tangibly sad.  Insides rotting away because I’m awful.  I’m awful.  Blood is the life.  Drinking from me.  Wanting to die.  Service with a smile.  Such a lovely smile. 

Have precious little data.  Again, I must emphasize the consummate professionalism.  Falling asleep, finally had some peace.  Dulcet.  Police officer.  Remember this.  Hahaha and at daybreak, the cycle repeats.  I know it’s bad for me.  It’s bad for everyone.  It’s bad for everyone who comes into contact with me. 

I was reading Frank Miller’s Ronin yesterday.  Lynn Varley is so great. 

Tee hee.  At some point there was an avocado.  Avocados have me.  there was also coconut or pina coladas.  Divine.  And deep lovely laughter.  But I still vacated.  And then I didn’t matter.  see the most recent one.  this came before that.  Fuck I am so fucking awful.  If only I could just be completely erased.  I know what I need to eliminate.  I’m such a piece of shit though.  I need to watch more black and white movies.  I’m listening to Save the Best For Last by Vanessa Williams right now.  I fucking love that song. 

shit

 

I am an evil.  I am asshole.  Damn, it all sounds so fucking funny.  I fucking hate myself so much.  Gotta peck out the words before it’s all normalized.  Piece of liver.  I’m such a piece of fucking shit.  I’m so fucking ugly.  my mommy hated me.  I wish she’d had the abortion.  Fucking cunt.  Fucking worthless bitch.  Couldn’t even have a fucking proper abortion the dumb fucking bitch.  I was reading a Sally Rooney short story recently that I thought was really good.  Marion.  I believe that was the title.  Interesting writer. I see now I can’t escape any drama or evil.  It constantly encroaches upon yours truly.  But I can’t really blame anyone else can I?  it’s because I’m such a monumental piece of shit.  Shit flocks to shit.  I can’t blame my mommy anymore.  I’m a grown ass man.  Everything is my fault. That’s why I want to buy a revolver.  S and w 36 methinks.  It’s what dennis hopper uses in The American Friend, one of my favorite movies.  I think it may also be what is used in the movie Christine starring Rebecca Hall.  Rebecca Hall is an amazing actress.  One of my favorites.  She always gives a great performance.  Per the town, she also has incredibly sexy feet.  I’m such a piece of shit.  But yeah, the 36, it’s attractive.  It would be so nice to buy one, figure out all it’s inner workings, really get to it, understand how and why it functions and then promptly blow my dumb fucking brains out.  I think it’s important that my fucking brains be blown out because it is my worthless cursed wretched mind which is at the source of all woe.  Inescapable drama.  So much bullshit. But imagine that, my brains and blood splattered against the wall. Who knows where my eyeballs would end up.  It’s funny to think that I would shit my pants upon being dead.  And then I’d just be a bag of meat.  All the stupid shit that had taken place over the course of my wasted and worthless life would matter even less than it already does.  I would just be a bag of blood bone and shit.  Hahahaha, that’s funny. 

My jaw feels distended right now.  I’m such a phony. Everything I project is fake.  I see everything through a pane of glass and I try to replicate.   I hate myself so much but it’s only because I’m a worthless piece of shit.  Everything I touch turns to shit.  I’m not good for anything.  I go someplace and the place is fine.  The place may be good.  But after my being there the place is now worse off.  I interact with people and I create shit. What results is needless drama.  I tell myself I don’t like the drama but I must on some level otherwise it wouldn’t manifest.  Didn’t believe in transcendence. 

Can’t blame anyone else in my circle.  I was at the movie theatre recently and I cried.  I feel like Jesus doesn’t love me but.  I know that’s just my dumb dramatic mind.  I’m a piece of shit.  I hate myself so much.  Would be nice to burn in the sun.  be thrown into the sun.  that sounds horrible.  Drowning. Being in the depths.  Black.  Please don’t look at me, I hate when people look at me.  so said that I was born.  Cliché.  Wish I was never born.  How cliché.  Fuck, don’t have a single interesting thought. Fucking worthless piece of shit.  So angry driving around the other day. angry cause I’m shit.  I ate steak for dinner.  Smelled like makeup.  I need to not talk to people. 

I need to not talk to people.  It hurts to talk to people.  I wish I never knew anyone.  I hate that people know me.  I wish I could eradicate all memory of me in everyone’s minds.  I wish people would leave me alone.  It feels so bad to talk to anyone.  I hate myself so goddam fucking much.  I hate talking to people.  Feels so fucking awful.  Nothing good ever comes of it.  I’m so fucking fake.  

garbage1008

 

At the bar, the two of us were both mesmerized by the bartenders exposed cellulite ridden thighs.  With her back turned and preparing our drinks – I a double check whiskey on the rocks my friend a cheap light beer crap – we stared and stared at the pale jiggling thighs and the ultra tight denim shorts which accentuated her quaking cheeks.  At some point we talk about this.  And it occurs to me that everything is just animal impulses. We’re all so gauche.  Humanity is so gauche and I love that word.  Sitting there at the sticky bar and looking at all the assholes around us.  I too was/am an asshole.  All of us trying to forget ourselves and swilling poison.  All of us so pathetic.  Desperately looking for meaning when all we do is create and nurture piles of shit.  And our eyes bulge and pulses quicken at the sight of mounds of fat.  All natural so I suppose that’s saying something.  And someone asks how her shorts must be smelling at the end of the night because they are packed so tightly into the crack of her buttocks.  They would be well lined with skin flakes and probably flecks of brown shit or small pieces of toilet paper and that ripped and stuck during the messy process of ass-wiping and dried sweat and encrusted with whatever juices have leaked out through the night’s work.  These things like smell and taste, it’s all animal.  We’re just a bunch of dumb red faced monkeys.  But it all looks the same after a while.  There’s nothing behind it.  All just for emptying balls.  How sad we are.  the smells of our body.  The smell of semen and slits.  Dripping dicks.  Semen on the tongue.  Semen in the eye.  When did this all cease to have any meaning?  Finding someone attractive is so awful.  This is what we were created for?  For nothing.  Somewhere someone has their mouth wide open right now in preparation for eating fresh shit from an anal cavity and their rocks are in the process of getting off.  I go to the bathroom and take a piss and try as I might to shake off my dick I still splash some piss onto my rent trousers.  Cribbing a little now: I imagine my suicide by hanging and am amused to think about my manhood poking out of my rent trousers in a death erection while the seat of my pants is also full of my body’s last great evacuation of steaming corn infused shit.  Talked about making money at some point and wanted to cry.  Discussions about money promote more rot on the inside.  This is all a mistake.  Everything has been a horrible mistake and our creator must be so disgusted with us. 

Listening to here comes the rain again and I realize the alcohol makes me feel more suicidal and think about revolvers but it also numbs things so I don’t know which is worse and i like the numbing and I like how awful it feels.  It hurts a lot of times to talk to people thought I suppose I should consider that it must also hurt them to talk to me.  I scrambled a couple eggs recently.  I should make a big papier-mache nest and live inside it.  I wish someone would buy me a fluorescent green or pink striped and collared shirt so I could wear it under a cheap black suit.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to break open that dekooning book asap.  Lovely stuff.  Here all alone is so nice.  I might go to the bar later on even though that would be a terrible idea.  Why does the production on these black Sabbath albums sound like dog shit?  Is it my fucking speakers or my ears?  Started watching a movie about space truckers last night but the offbrand zzzquil and bottom of the shelf red wine had taken it’s toll.  Everything feels so gross in the morning.  Gotta read about some frogs today.  Need to read more about technology.  Order some more books.  Not time for anything.  Bullet making my brain explode makes the most sense.  That is the center of everything.  Just utterly obliterate all this uselessness. 

I did not realize John Carpenter was doing the soundtrack to the soon to be released feature film adaptation of Stephen King’s novel Firestarter.  I didn’t realize it cause I’m a dumbass.  I love Carpenter’s soundtracks and his lost themes albums.  I recently listening to one of them while driving around and digesting oranges.  This makes me keen to see the movie on the big screen that I may experience his newest film score work at high volumes.  The movie looks pretty good too (I liked the director’s first film) but I’ve always considered the book to be near the bottom of all the King stuff I’ve read.  I constantly crank the ghosts of mars soundtrack.  I need some coffee or something right now.  Or to line my teeth with tinfoil. 

Flight attendants have me.  There are two cellular telephones near me.  The wonders of technology.  In a bar recently.  Need to stop going to bars.  No good comes from bars.   And now the curating.  Not quite the right word.  Styling.  Started styling for you.  Of course, I think as my head goes light: how utterly proper.  Hooks.  Long hard day of reporting the news.  Rich explosion.  Crossing guard, great performances.  Really like the carpenter fog.  Deep dive into carpentry.  Need to complete lost themes.  Need to reread bacchus.  Campbell.  Need to order some books.  And maybe more used hosiery.  Did I mention exotica earlier?  I’m thinking of two different things. one with reptiles.  Very hearty.  I wouldn’t think they’re not hearty.  And the other, recent in wax.  Never sampled.  Need to sample.  Need to read pulp.  I don’t like making idle chit chat at the bank.  Giantess.  Giantess at the bank should crush me like a massive futuristic forklift machine. 

1,023

I was considering the glossy greatness of Shania Twain’s 2002 album Up! [not to be confused with Peter Gabriel’s 2002 album Up (a very difficult album imho)] when I went to the latrine.  I took a steaming meaty shit and the toilet paper in the public restroom was nice and rough which felt great against the crack in my buttocks.  Last night’s cheap whiskey weighed very heavily on me.  Hot whiskey shits.  At some point while driving it off in the glorious dawn I was listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s fun and frothy (but not frothy like Up!) score to the 1992 box office bomb Medicine Man starring Sean Connery and a post Goodfellas, pre Sopranos Lorraine Bracco (whose legs in Sopranos gave me all manner of joyously impure thoughts).  That reminded me that I need to order Goldsmith’s score to the 1996 box office bomb The Ghost and the Darkness starring a woefully miscast Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer.  I also really like Gary Chang’s score to the 1996 box office bomb The Island or Dr. Moreau starring Marlon Brando and Val Kilmer and though that movie was and is critically derided I really enjoy and have watched my blu ray copy literally hundreds of times.  I also love Elliot Goldenthal’s score to the 1995 box office hit Batman Forever starring Val Kilmer, Tommy Lee Jones, Jim Carrey, Nicole Kidman and Chris O’Donnell.  I feel that score is underrated due to Danny Elfman’s legendary work on the preceding two movies.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  At some point I offered to buy someone a shot but she declined the offer which was and is perfectly within her rights.  Tattooed goddess in white and blue with long black hair to the left of me.  Will I ever see you again?  I stared at the picture of Tatiana in nude pantyhose for so very long.  How I wish she would use me as her personal footrest after a long hard day of concerts and hosting television programs while in those nude pantyhose.  How I wish she would laugh at me and berate while ordering me to smell her gorgeous hosiery clad feet. 

I’m thinking I should order a massive plate of raw oysters for lunch.  Or am i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  They’d probably go good with whiskey or maybe a beer (even though I don’t like beer).  It’s too early now for whiskey but it won’t be once lunch rolls around.  Tattooed goddess was eating what I initially thought was a grilled cheese but upon closer peripheral inspection I think it was actually a BLT with tots on the side or maybe it was some kind of fish sandwich cause she asked for lots of lemons and even took a little plastic cup of lemon wedges to go along with what she didn’t finish of her late night dinner or maybe the lemons were for drinks later that night or for something she was going to cook (fish again?) or maybe she was going to a get together and the lemons were for something she was going to eat and/or drink there.  She looked beautiful when she was eating.  She was totally unabashed and took glorious lovely bites which immediately brought to mind many of my vore fantasies.  Oh in that moment (and many after) how I wanted her to shrink me down with some kind of 50’s era sci fi shrink-ray contraption or with the powers of mysticism and dark magic and that she be my hungry and merciless tattooed giantess.  How I longed to be pressed to the roof of her mouth by her tongue, crushed between her powerful molars and dissolved by her saliva.  I desperately wanted to buy her a drink but I ultimately chickened out.  However, should the fates bestow upon me a second chance i will not make the same mistake twice.  Or will i?  the more I learn the less I want to know. 

I don’t even have a name.  she’s gone forever.  But I will never forget her.  Or will i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  What I’m drinking right now has a black cherry citrus flavor.  Red heart.  Red heart.  Where can I find the hd version.  I’m sure it’s somewhere.  It’s a great piece of work.  I love cinema.  I loved the movie I watched last night.  Pink envelope.  Pink envelope.  Such a lovely touch.  Envelope isn’t exactly the right word though. And now a deadly new obsession takes hold.  Reporting the news.  Long hard day.  Overdrive brain.  And that knowing smile.  Knowing smile when the pink parcel is handed over.  I am ruled by obsessions.  She knows.  Rhino.  Takes me back to the Palm Springs days.  Such wonderful days.  Feel like they happened to a different person entirely.  And then never again.  Where did she go?  Slowly, they are all leaving.  As it should be.  Need to read danse.  Been on my shelf for a while.  I think.  I don’t fucking know anything anymore.  Muses gone.  The jackal who is not the jackal.  This seems to be the denouement of the Rhapsody in Blue.  It is fitting.  Just need to procure some baked goods.  That’s why I need to start keeping a small stack of federal reserve notes in my breast pocket.  But yes, that will be the finale.  Baked goods of real worth exchanged for currency plain.  And then there will be almost nothing left.  I liked to be looked upon with seething hatred.  Little pleasure always got it wrong.  New ice queen.  Square dishes.  I’m washed up.  I’m old hat.  The vampire and the ballerina.  Incredible.  There is no one left for me at the ball.  No one waiting for me or looking for me.  That’s how it should be.  I don’t like the phrasing because it makes it sound like a negative.  Even if I feel awful, it’s good that I feel awful.  It’s how it should.  Final letter of the alphabet.  June Palmer.  How the fuck did I never know?!

Gorgeous chola, ink, white and turquoise

 I want to shoot myself in the head. Because blowing my fucking brains out just makes sense. The only thing that makes sense. Worthless piece of shit. Just splatter all that awful worthless shit. Wish my mother had aborted me. Worthless. But I’m too afraid it will hurt. What a worthless fuck I am. 

turquoise

 

I love burning. Incredible.  Clint eastwood is one of my favorite actors and directors.  Or is he?! The more I learn the less I want to know.  I’m still very absorbed by the big book dreamcatcher by Stephen king.  What a brilliant and pulpy read.  While in a semi related noted the words of karla turner have infected my mind.  Need to shave.  I didn’t shave yesterday.  Or did i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to read more.  I was called out for being evil the other night.  Suppose I couldn’t disagree.  God, I’m so tired of everyone.  Wish everyone would just leave me alone.  Or am I really just tired of myself?  That’s probably it. Ate some red meat for lunch.  Put some ketchup on it.  Remember being at a bar and a heavy set Mexican man was eating gross bar food – burger and fries me thinks – and licking his stumpy fingers after literally every bite, making a wet popping sound.  So disgusting.  People are so fucking disgusting.  I liked the joker scene that was released.  I have fully faith in Barry.  Loved his last line reading there.  understand the need of omission though.  Recalled manhunter for me.  one of my favorite films.  I use a melted screwdriver and a little rubber croc as totems of inspiration.  Fuck, I need to get that special edition blu ray of communion.  That film (and book) really freaks me the FUCK out but I needs it.  It gets the writing process.  It speaks well to the whole abduction experience.  I wish one person in my life really gave a shit.  I wish one person in my life really understood me.  eh, I’m not sure I actually do wish that.  I actually love being alone.  Been listening to the wu tang clan a lot again recently.  Love their music.  I like that double album a lot.  And Ghostface’s solo albums.  It’s sad how get older and just focus on money and decorative shit.  Almost everything in our lives is just empty decorative shit.  I was too sad last night to watch a sad movie.  It’s been 13 years since part 1 of the commuter type interview with Hollywood favorite DB Sweeney went up! When is part 2 coming out!? Surely 13 years is enough time to edit it! Will they have us waiting until the end of time (I’ll be there for you.)?  I love Prince’s music. 

Gonna write some garbage for a while.  Sure hope I can take a shit today.  I don’t understand the emphasis people put on funerals.  I don’t understand most things people do. more and more I just doubt.  We just seem like a dumb monkey species.  A dumb filthy primitive animal species.  But I don’t even like saying this because I love animals.  I vastly prefer animals to people.  That reminds me how I enjoy the movie Congo! What a fun flick! And Laura Linney! She’s so cool! I love jungle adventure movies!  I need to rewatch the serpent and the rainbow! And swamp thing! And a bunch of other crap! And read alan more swamp thing comic books! And a bunch of other alan moore crap! God, why can’t people just leave me the FUCK alone?  Tightrope is not a great film but as always I love how eager he is to play with and subvert his own popular image.  FUCKING BRILLIANT!  Need to read Sondra’s book.  she’s been a great and charismatic presence in these!  Need to read miller Eisner as well.  And that Hitchcock book.  and more esoteric and conspiratorial shit! 

And of course through it all I must be listening to the Sonic R soundtrack! Sonic R, one of the greatest video games of all time with one of – or perhaps THE – greatest video games soundtracks of all time.  my Shout Factory special edition blu ray of Phillipe Mora’s Communion (based on Whitley Strieber’s bestseller) is on it’s way.  I am one of 1500 great people who will have that specific iteration in their film collections! Or am i?!  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to add to my esoteric book collection and order a vintage copy of Wolds in Collision by Immanuel Velikovsky.  Then I need to check if there are any used pairs of pantyhose I can order!   I need to order some books by Japanese authors.  I’m eating almonds.  I need to listen to cher, heart and Elton john this week.  I recently changed a light bulb.  I was recently listening to new order with my windows rolled down and I had the feeling that everything was going to be all right.  But I don’t trust that feeling.  Substance.  It’s too stuffy in here.  need to clean house and make room.  Some of the bass players I find deeply inspiring include Peter Hook, Flea, Eric Avery, Joe Lally and that’s all I can think of right now.  Hook is so rad.  I like nancy Sinatra.  I need to read the liner notes to that one compilation of hers I bought.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  It’s best that I don’t talk to anyone.  I’m repugnant.  Pearl handle.  Or pearl grip.  Not sure how to put it.  Too tempted to use it on myself but we live in a very dangerous world. 

 I think From a Buick 8 is one of Stephen King’s most underrated works.  I love that book.  or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  That order of used pantyhose arrived just in the nick of time!   I can’t find Tangerine Dream’s soundtrack to Firestarter anywhere!  I hate myself so much! I’m gonna cook a steak here in a little bit.  Sion sono has been one of my favorite directors  a long time.  many of his films mean a great deal to me.  I just don’t know what to say right now. 

P

 Crying as I finish episode 3.09 of Killjoys. Love this show. Love Dutch. And her friendship with Johnny. Cried as this episode ended and grabbed my head. Finished Sopranos this morning. Finished the whole series. Cried for that too. So badly want to kill self. Brain will normalize it soon. I’m just a faker anyway. Please ignore. Just a burst of emotion. So thankful for Killjoys. Will think about it before I fall asleep. Drank whiskey and wine this night. Didn’t help much.  

1035

 

I watched a movie called Frank & Lola the other night and really enjoyed.  I drank a bottle of cheap ass red wine whilst watching and then I watched part of a piece of crap submarine movie that I intend to finish today.  Janus reports to me that the number four will be in question with respect to going inland.  I personally never ventured to that part of California.  It looks like digital celluloid shit on my screen but maybe something can be done about that?  I wish I were in the city cause then I’d go to the premiere.  I haven’t obtained digital justice.  It looks highly strange.  In the 90’s these curios were everywhere.  It was a great time to be alive.  Too bad I squandered my life and now I’m just a useless fuckup.  Damn, I need a drink.  I needed one last night too.  Listened at some point to a symposioum with john mack and budd Hopkins.  Fascinating.  Did everything just end when the 90’s ended?  I can’t think right now.  I can’t write anything worth a damn.  the q and a was an oddly intelligent one.  you know what movie I love?  Cabaret Maxime.  Great movie.  Michael imperioli and Ana Pardrao are great in it.  Of course I see the parallels to Killing of a Chinese Bookie! I’m not a fucking idiot! That’s a damn fine movie too! I had fish for lunch.  And avocado for my lunch grease.  I recently watched a thick Hispanic woman who was wearing stockings, I watched her press down on the pedals in her car and say suggestive things.  her toenails were painted blue.  I had a pair of used hosiery around my head and I just fucking lost it!  The books I’m reading right now are dreamcatcher, low down and the vegetarian.  There are also some short story collections I’m working through.  I’m feeling weird, wondering I cooked that fish properly.  I watching this thick white british female wrestler wearing shiny hosiery and I just fucking lost it.  Went off! I really like jazz.  My dream in life is to amass a massive collection of jazz vinyl records only for them to be lost in a house flood. 

Did travis walton’s hoax ruin my life?  Maybe.  But I can’t blame him.  We’re all hustlers.  Walton should be at that club with J Lo, shaking his fine ass alongside the sumptuous Lizzo.  Of course I’m reminded of the film Guilty by Association, perhaps Morgan Freeman’s finest hour.  People need to take a closer look at the Pascagoula abduction.  It may be the only credible one ever in the history of mankind.  Look at the creature design.  Very unique.  Like nothing else ever reported.  I need to watch a gamera movie soon.  I was listening to and loving jerry cantrell’s double album degradation trip yesterday.  It sounded good the windows rolled down in my big manly mac truck.  With mud flaps! I want to buy a revolver for home protection but I’m too afraid I’d get brave after a couple drinks and blow my miserable fucking brains out one night.  If I did buy one I’d probably go for a little snubby like the kind Dennis Hopper’s character Tom Ripley used in The American Friend.  I love that fucking movie.  One of my personal favorites.  Hopper is my favorite of the live action Ripleys.  Ripley Under Ground was actually a very funny book.  Highsmith is excellent at balancing the dark and twisted with some (gallows) humor.  I’d like to find a vintage hardcover of that book.  The movie Ripley’s Game was cool too but I prefer The American Friend and I much prefer Hopper’s interpretation over Malkovich’s.  or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  I drank a tall frost glass of modelo yesterday.  Salt around the rim just how I like it.  I only feel like a man when drinking a mug of suds.  I like Walt Simonson’s artwork.  I’m starting to read his Thor run and then I’ll jump to Orion.  I’m obsessed with Brazilian bbw’s. 

Apropos of nothing I was think about back acne the other day.  backne as it’s affectionately called.  I always liked the suggestion of cleaning something using the oil from my nose and forehead.  The human body is so grotesque.  One of my favorite Brazilian bbw’s was wearing red lace panties and then black lace panties and I couldn’t decide which I preferred.  I miss correspondence.  I need to start correspondence again.  I like to smell books when I read them.  I’m real big on the olfactory sense.  There’s a Mark Knopfler album right next to me as I type out this garbage.  A double album in fact.  Though I’m writing in silence.  I wish I had a typewriter.  Or do i?! the more I learn the less I want to know.  I really like the show killjoys.  It’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.  I really enjoyed X . Mia Goth is great.  it really captured that greasy look and feel.  I’m all about grease.  For my lunch grease I had avocado again.  Grease is so interesting.  Forehead grease.  Nose grease.  I like when in movies and I guess real life when people rub their noses together after hot breathy kisses, exchanging the nose grease.  Nothing is more romantic than exchanging nose grease.  I really like jazz albums because the liner notes are extremely informative.  Jazz is so cool.  I also like rot.  I like when things get wet – like cardboard boxes – and start to rot.  It all makes sense if we’re just a primitive monkey species.  There’s not enough to fucking do anything ! not enough time in the day! 

Sonya Yoncheva’s Rebirth is a lovely album.  I think it would be quite a delightful experience to see her live.  I might watch a Wayne Wang movie later on today.  I enjoyed driving through the rain while listening to Peter Gabriel’s album Security.  Actually, I don’t know if I ever really enjoy anything.  I hate myself and I hate my life and I wish my worthless mommy had gone through with the abortion.  I’m a piece of shit. 

1067

 

Sitting the movie theatre now.  Realized I should have worked in bugs.  But now everything has been normalized so it’s not quite the same.  Try to recapture.  Only darkness and I should be so happy.  But I only feel grey, miserable.  Happiness is silly anyway.  Doesn’t matter that I don’t feel happy.  Deeper than that.  The inherent pointlessness of it all.  And everyone getting up and down.  adolescents so disgusting.  Not just them.  Everyone to the left but they don’t use their own staircase.  Why are people so awful?  I’ve forgotten everything.  Need to stop drinking.   The occult.  Looking into the occult during the day and then having trouble sleeping at night.  Book right next to me.  with a deep indigo cover. One of the books that saved me during the last year.  I read it through an alcoholic haze.  A Brazilian bbw in pink panties is letting one rip on my face and telling me what some of her favorite foods are and I’m suffocating.  At least I think that’s what she’s saying, I don’t really speak the language.  or do i? the more I learn the less I want to know.  At some point earlier in things I was opening a new bag of used pantyhose and wrapping half a dozen pairs around my face and breathing in deep.  I need to drink some coffee.  I often feel bad when I drink coffee.  No, not right.  It’s the booze that makes me feel bad.  Clive Barker’s writing revives me, makes me want to keep going.  The way those pink lace panties were gobbled up by her massive quaking ass was so sexy.  I just drank coffee and smelled some books.  Been listening to a lot of Layne recently.   I need to get clean somehow.  Time and again I tell myself.  Need to watch that one interview with Iggy Pop again.  And listen to avenue.  Need more wax.  Don’t obfuscate.  Augmentation.  We’re all so deeply sad.  I love the new Batman movie.  It’s so fresh but right now I’d say Robert Pattinson is my second favorite Batman after Michael Keaton.  Who knows if that could change?  Realized over and over again what a worthless failure I am.  All so empty.  I am empty.  Yes, that time wanting nothing more than to be extinguished.  Realizing my life is utterly useless. 

All in head.  The masquerade.  From a 13^th century book.  karla turner.  The implications terrifying.  I’m not wanted anywhere.  Looked at me with such glorious disdain. And then all I wanted was the nonexistent comfort of the rhapsody in blue.  Breathe in deep now.  Knee on head.  It’s okay, just let go now.  Maybe go outside and run.  Happens outside.  I’m so empty.  I ‘m such a waste.  Nothing ever comes to completion.  Making the same errors over and over again.  Random facts have me.  growling.  Could use a drink but I don’t want one but I do.  8^th tower.  Why does everything feel so awful?  Behind every photograph I am deeply unhappy.  I am never myself.  There is no true self when it comes to me.  goddess of death has me again.  Everywhere I turn to is emptiness. 

I love the book dreamcatcher by Stephen king.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I was listening to dolly parton earlier.  I’ve been listening to more classic country lately.  Or have i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I drank a lot of tequila the other night and watched a Sandra bullock movie.  One of my favorite film scores is Christopher Young’s score for Hellraiser.  I love the comic book From Hell.  The movie had a really good score too.  I like to play that particular score when I’m preparing a glass of absinthe.  I’m gonna read some classic moon knight comic books in preparation for the show even though there’s a decent chance I’ll never watch the show.  Need to get splatt.  I recently drank black coffee.  I’m going to have a can of chunk light tuna fish for dinner.  I was recently watching a big woman in lace panties sit on a thick stuffed burrito and really smash the shit out of it with her voluminous ass.  I like drinking juice in the morning.  I’m going to watch a movie later today.  I watched two movies yesterday.  I like music.  I like when pages are intentionally left blank . I like when people threaten to take their banking elsewhere.  I like when Mexican regional mexicano and pop artist Ana Barbara wears pantyhose.  I wish she would use my face as her personal footrest after a long concert in pantyhose and that she would laugh at me and berate me in her native tongue.  I love failure and self destruction.  I’ve been failing a lot recently which makes me happy.  I really like books by ryu murakami. 

What did karla turner know?  Or ted rice?  Or john mack.  The 90’s are coming back in style!  Lot of people being herded around like cattle.  Looks of depression or dread or something and then so much screaming later on.  Seeing some type of floating head on the ceiling.  Voices coming out of things that shouldn’t have voices.  Stomach acids.  Was this all from the influence of the culture, fire in that instance.  Even way down under o rmaybe not as I have a terrible sense of georgraphy.  Meteorites.  Always on the radio.  Local expert.  So easy to ask the leading questions.  They say the darndest things.  I need to go sit in a corner and think about triangles for a while.  The whole environmentalism angle is so 90’s.  apropos of nothing, mutiny dressed up as a luchadora really gets me revved up.  Luchadoras really get me revved up.  Five dollars is a steal.  I don’t believe disclosure is coming soon.  I really like the book the tommyknockers by Stephen king.  Maybe king should write more books about aliens.  Aliens scare the shit outta me.  I don’t believe travis anymore but part of me still does cause I’m a candy ass.  I like dennis cooper’s books a lot.  I wish I was good at something but I’m really just an ugly and pathetic fuckup and I wish my mommy had gone through with the abortion.  I’m writing a reminder here to watch more classic star trek.  I have thirst.