and an overcooked cheeseburger too (seriously people, don't wait so long to...!)!

Another sacrifice to the fire gods, eh?  

We’re all just tilting at windmills.  I told myself to shut the fuck up several times today.  Sometimes I said it with a smirk on my face.  Who was I just thinking about a moment ago?  Good God, that coffee is really doing a number on my stomach.  He was going for the birthday girl but she was already leaving to get her party on, to get her all-out motherfucking freak on, dare I say!  (just end it all, no one will care.  They’ll all be better off). 

Who were you trying to superimpose onto that identity?  He watched as a thick muscular Brazilian woman with gorgeous black hair squeezed the life out of her stepson’s head with her voluminous and powerful thighs.  It was lovely perversity, he thought to himself.  Were you imagining yourself in that situation you sick bastard?!

  
A day in the life as our identities mean less and less.  They’ve fallen in love with technology.  Who are they?  The zombies?  Is that accurate, is that fair to say?  Someone with black eyes like daggers first used that phrase around me.  Red slash, do you recall?  There was cold sweat running down my face.  Wake up baby.  We cannot be mistakes, by my understanding of things.  But we are so deeply awful it hurts.  We are not yet swimming in hell.  It is wishful thinking of the most fanciful kind to think we deserve something more.  Tilting at windmills again, we send our loved ones to the underground where we belong because we’re so much more in love with our own terrible selves.  If I walk up and down the street I can see the souls rotting.  Sometimes they stick to the bottoms of my shoes and I then have to clean the waffle out with a stick.  

Could Dunkirk take the place of The Prestige as my favorite Christopher Nolan movie?  I need to watch it at least 49 more times to even begin thinking about ranking it.  I’m listening to Tempest by Bob Dylan.  I think I first heard this album inside a metaphorical fish bowl.  It’s really stayed with me, both physically and metaphorically.  I think I would like to hear it while in a sandwich shop one day. 

I really like Jack Ketchum’s work.  I have found the books I’ve read of his to be most satisfying.  At some point in my miserable life I’d like to read more (just take a knife from the kitchen and do it all already, remember the recommended vertical cuts!).  I watched the Australian horror movie Killing Ground this morning while consuming scrambled eggs, sausage and black coffee.  The movie reminded me in parts of Ketchum’s debut novel Off Season.  On the whole the movie was merely acceptable though it did have a mean streak I enjoyed.  Off Season is a great book though and I love it so.  I’m staring at my tattered and yellowed well-read copy right now and I’m tempted to douse it in Cholula and consume for dinner. 

Magenta leotard (links elsewhere).

Speaking of Australians I’ve been listening to a fair amount of Bon Scott era AC DC.  It’s funny, as a young man I favored Brian Johnson though now in my ripe old age I prefer Scott.  Though my favorite AC DC singer still remains Dave Evans and I can’t imagine this ever changing.  Highway to Hell is a sweaty and urgent rock album. I listened to it the other day while driving.  I was so pumped by the propulsive tunes I actually drove four miles over the legal limit, chewing Wrigley’s Winterfresh chewing gum all the while.  Such is the nature of wisdom.  

Anyone heard the 1994 album The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails?!  Great album.  Classic.  Reznor has said David Bowie’s 1977 album Low was the single biggest influence on that album.  Low is super classic.  As much as I love The Downward Spiral, I simply adore Low (and the following 2 parts of the Berlin Trilogy) which should come as no surprise to avid followers of my worthless work.  Low has also had a tremendous influence on me so how come The Downward Spiral is so awesome and I’m so useless?

 
The movie Taxi Driver is on the background.  I’ve seen it countless times.  I love that movie.  In fact, I would say it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in my utterly worthless life.  Is it Scorsese’s best?!  Likely not.  But it’s up there!  Thank God he’s stopped working with Leo (or so it seems)!

It took me awhile to get to but I’m listening to The Life of Pablo.  I’m behind the times.  When is the last time someone did something innovative in rock music?  Is rock relevant in any way at all these days?  Could it just be that far more interesting music is being created in the rap and hip hop fields these days?  Or has that gone down the proverbial crapper too since the glorious 90’s.  I was listening to Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx the other day. What a great album!

Would she be surprised by how often she shows up?  These are not small appearances.  They are lengthy.  They are daily.  He changes the scenery, travels all over the world and across the universe and still she always walks right through the front door.  She talks about torture and ancient Indian burial grounds.  She talks about love.  This is an awful dream.  She shows up everywhere and he does his best not to compare. 

I foolishly thought Ricardo – that rogue – was the key but I only hit another dead fucking end!  It took so long to locate Gomez and now that he’s been located I assumed a wealth of information would be at my disposal but I still feel just as far away as ever.  Alma.  The soul.  And I learned she was living with the rogue for a while.  This would seem to explain all their appearances together.  I need to look for more common threads here, find that special friend.  Goddammit, I’m gonna finish this if it’s the last motherfucking thing I do!  Yamila, I swear….

He fantasizes too much about being strangled these days.  Who is he?  He is evil.   

confession over overcooked pasta (why wait so long?)

So I watched the new Justice League trailer earlier today and then, apropos of nothing, I proceeded to eat big ol’ ball of yarn.  People have been literally dying to know what I think of the new footage.  I love love love the song Katrina’s Paper Dolls from the Purple Rain deluxe release.  It is so frothy and summery and lovely.  It is slight, but blissfully slight.  It’s like eating ice cream in the park with your one true love (but only in your head because nothing truly works out).  I need him for the melodies.  And of course the extended version of Computer Blue is an unstoppable funk monster. 

I failed again, to the letter.  It was difficult to sleep last night.  Actually, that’s not true at all.  That being said, I was definitely full of self-loathing though this is certainly nothing new.  The Thin Red Line was on in the background at some point today.  It is still my favorite war movie.  I’m not really a fan of war movies.  Someone or maybe a group of people were talking about the conflict between love and sex.  For a moment, they forgot about God.  I’m sorry. I must have said this one thousand times last night.  We are all wonderful and unique snowflakes and we all deserve to have our voices heard.  Chortle.  Live baby live!  I never got the chance to welcome her to the country.  I only offered advice.  Am I something awful whispering into someone else’s ear while it all goes down the drain?  I messed it all up.  I am a betrayer.  I am a despicable and disgusting human being.  I wish I could wipe everyone’s memory of my existence. 

I like the look of some things.  Me still eager to hear Elfman’s score.  There’s a part that reminds me of something but I don’t know what.  What a throwaway paragraph.  I love the Kirby stuff so I was excited to see Steppenwolf and the red Apokolipsian skies and the Parademons despite by better judgment.  And hell, Affleck’s Batman costume still continues to look cool as hell!  Not sure if this will be his last outing as the caped crusader but if so it was certainly an interesting (if brief) ride. But then…I don’t know.  Whatevs.  

We’re all two of more people and all of them are terrible.  I really like the song Zoo Station.  I bought Tyler the Creator’s new album, haven’t had a chance to listen yet.  But soon I will.  

Meaningless and lifeless spurt.  Oh we are all so very awful.  I am no exception.  I have never been exceptional.  I devoured lamb with a smile on my face.  I desperately needed something before, during and after to make me numb.  I think last time I said it but it’s true again.  Wait, what am I talking about?  The green wheels again.  I always tell myself the same thing and always while cowering in a corner.  I’ve never done good things.  Is this all there is?  How can anyone be happy?  We are all fooling ourselves.  This time in play is also side A of the one with the black and white ship.  What will I be believing and who will connect me with love?  I am a selfish and disgusting thing and there must be many who would prefer to see my face with a giant smoking hole in it.  I forgot those lessons she taught me.  Where were we?  The room was dark.  I forgot that sweet name despite the rebirth.  

In all my gushing about Haim’s new album I forgot to mention I recently acquired (rather late in the game) Megadeth’s most recent album Dystopia.  I like.  I must see Dunkirk again.  I likely will either this week or the following.  I will need at least a year before determining where it ranks overall in the man’s filmography.  The Addiction is one of my favorite movies of all time.  

I was watching You Only Live Twice again recently (twice in twice days) when I connected the dots between the classic Bond films – Connery and Lazenby and Moore – and the original 1978 Superman movie directed by Richard Donner (Dick to his friends just as I can be A dick to my friends).  Gene Hackman’s portrayal Lex Luthor is very much a Bond villain right down to his awesome liar.  And I mean that in a highly complimenty way as Bond villains are grand.  Particularly Blofeld from the movie I mentioned in the first sentence of this paragraph!  He is very pleasant!  My fave Blofeld.  One day he would hunt The Shape.  Goldfinger is great.  I’m not sure which I prefer between Goldfinger and You Only Live twice.  I don’t know anything (why do we have to live in so much pain?).  

As the gates of Heaven open up I wonder if the music playing is in B-major?  I think I first heard this during a time of appreciable hunger.  None of us can help but suck a little blood.  How fitting that he was also there, always so present.  There is jasmine and I am beneath the covers and wondering who was the most of anyone.  And I think I know.  There was time for tea and slowly we glided floating with the tide while he longed to hear you whisper his name.  Please call us together while we join their meeting.  There are flowers expressing their praises in the same moment and this is what it was made for.  An unexpected embrace and later on there was time to cry and hope and there was always the glorious omnipresent desire to die.  

He desires to lay in sweetest sin and read from the lotus Bible.  We just misheard one another is the problem.  No, I was the only one who misheard.  Your voice was very clear.  He saw her for the first time on a summer evening; the sun was almost gone.  He begs for only a couple words.  Those words are the cruelest thing of all and he prays for them to appear and prays for them to be gone.  Those snow-winged swans harmonizing.  Someone sings something else that sounds like we’re going to die tonight and it is so very comforting.  Anna’s recording sounds lovely.  You are still lovely. 

Happy birthday to George Clinton who’s given us some of the very best and funkiest music ever.  Still one of the best concerts I’ve ever attended.  

litany of s (too literal)

Malick’s Song To Song completed a fascinating trilogy.  I’m curious how these films will be viewed decades from now.  

The last episode of Lucha Underground was revelatory.  Did she turn heel?  That is the big question I was left with.  Always a very entertaining performer, it was heartbreaking to see her disqualification and a possible onset in a move away from being a babyface.  I would love to speak with her about it.  Though never breaking kayfabe of course.  Kayfabe is the key.

I looked for purity inside of sin.  The vibes!  The feels!  Track 6 gives it to me!  MJesque?!  There was one point of resistance though it was more dumb luck than anything else.  Don’t credit me with anything please. Bringer of pain.  There is always a summation.  Don’t forget who was standing there alongside the Queen.  A compliment granted to her shirt.  I want to escape to the costume ball.  Only there am I happy.  No Rhapsody, please.  It was grotesque craving, standing alongside there.  obvious.  No one else’s fault.  Those last sweet words were spied.  I did not deserve them.

I now have Haim’s new album and am listening to it as I crap out this latest burst of pointless prose so kindly ignore what I will say later on as it is no longer accurate.  I am surely enjoying it so far.  It is keen growing with this group.  I can’t stand the group Keane though so I now I regret that word choice.  

I have never been a fan of joy (spelled wrong) and the answer lies in Parade, 9.  Scary Monsters is very much everything right now.  I am similarly cowering in a corner, mulling over my broken promise.  How many times have I broken that particular one?  Am I to be banished?  Glassy.  I can only describe those as glassy exteriors which seem altogether appropriate.  Now that she mentions it, some Sign O’ the Times probably would help me too.  But right now I just need all these super creeps (that’s what I am).  I nearly forget that children around the world put camel shit on the walls.  

I am truly disgusting.  Thankfully, there was no Rhapsody in Blue today.  I was allowed something of a reprieve though twas not for like of corrupt trying on my part.  No more Rhapsody, that’s what I need.  That’s one of the last things I need.  No more costume balls. Maybe one but very carefully locked away.  It came down to two out of four in the end.  50% , the kids might say.  ½ if you’re a fraction fan. The opposite of good.  Still, I was spared by half and I thank You for that.  I am sorry but I can’t say that anymore.  My mug shot is too unpolished.    

Arrow’s deluxe blu ray release of Wes Craven’s The Hill Have Eyes is a fucking beautiful package and restoration!  What a gritty and grimy flick!  You know, I actually quite liked Aja’s 2006 remake.  Definitely one of the best horror remakes in my worthless opinion.  Craven’s original A Nightmare on Elm Street is also great, dirty horror.  I don’t mean dirty as sexual either.  Craven often infuses a great grimy aesthetic.  Interesting that he got his start making pornography though.  

And then I realized the pointlessness of pleasure.  The yearning for the empty spurt. It all comes and goes.  We are putrid.  None more than I.  I sought solace in sin.  And my sin has a direct reflection and an immediate consequence. There is pain everywhere.  I wonder if I am evil. 

The Queen of the Guacamole was out in full force today, generous contribution to general crumbling and demise.  She was making her usual prophecies and issuances of priceless advice (to which I am forever in debt) and this time the discourse turned to the age old topic of finance.  The almighty dollar and the loss of so much.  Multas.  Or am I thinking of Tulpas?  I love them both in very different ways.  There was an episode from last year’s season of The X-Files which dealt with a tulpa.  I adored that episode.  Though it was definitely more than a little reminiscent of the 1992 horror flick Candyman.  I adore Candyman.  And the Phillip Glass score!  Speaking of Glass I still need to fucking get those—

Four songs in and I am excitedly enjoying this album!  4 for 4!  Believe it.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is a great movie.  Truly great. 

Tyler the Creator’s 2015 album Cherry Bomb has a striking industrial sound but I wonder if it’s as effective as it’s clear predecessor, Kanye West’s superlative 2013 album Yeezus.  My lower intestine tells me no.  Though Cherry Bomb is certainly a grower and has an always welcome funk element.  I like the covers too.  The literal covers.  I’m interested in his new album as the first couple singles are quite strong.  I still need to buy Haim’s new album!  Maybe on my next trip to Palm Springs!  

Maroon.  I will never forget the sight of maroon.  When she looked at me like I wasn’t even human…I liked it.  

Working backwards I suppose and still operating under largely nameless suppositions.  Or was there something else?  Yes, maybe.  The Linguist?  The Greek?  I need to look back. I need to search deep and look within (hand me that sword and then disappear into the ether why don’t you?!).  This was at the root of it.  The beginning of the failure.  I choose to wallow in sin.  I am a truly ugly person in every sense of the word.  Lovely and perfumed by the morning. It was the finest beginning.  The end of the beginning was confrontation.  I was half-witness.  Blushing.  Happiness tainted by us.  Canon?  They always do that.  It always begins in sin.  I plead to a piece of wood.  I need forgiveness but I need something else more.  Mother of everything.  

Woke up and wanted to cry and die but I only ended up crying. It’s all so pointless.  What’s happened to my sense of humor?  I love track 5, beautiful.  I love this group.  I look forward to growing with them.  Watched You Only Live Twice last night; great classic Bond.  Connery for me.  let's not bring our personal lives into things.  I am awful.  Please only take things out on me.  no on else deserves anything harsh.  I am an awful person.  I am a sinner.  I hate myself.  I often wish for death. 

my little miracle.  that is lovely.  it would be so nice to end there.  if only.  please enjoy that time away.  no thanks necessary for the tip.  

“Shame on all of us,” he said.  Oh, how right you are.  Have truer words ever been spoken?

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!