Album review: Charli XCX - how I'm feeling now

Driving to work this morning and I wanted to kill myself.  This album makes me feel lonely and hopeful at the same time.  It occurred to me then that literally everything I’ve ever said has been trite bullshit.  But no matter.  I remember thinking while hearing this…one of the great albums.  A vital necessary piece of work.  plasticity kept coming to mind but of course only because I had to do a bunch of reading.  I love the research.  Anyone who knows me knows that.  “Research has pierced all extremes of my sex”.  And this instantly reminded me so much of Nine Inch Nails brilliant Year Zero that I had to wonder if there was any influence there.  but whatever, this was a loving cold embrace.  All the machinery.  The wonderful digital trickery.  Sentiment expressed through a digital veneer, love through the zeroes and ones.  My thoughts and emotions were awash in georgeous pristine multicolored artifcae.  And so soon after I’d read the great book Against Nature.  Somewhere there was a goldplated and jewel encrusted tortoise walking around majestic and content.  And when Charli sings she will love you forever I wished she was talking about and later one when she mentions holy water I want to be forgiven from the Mother of Mercy and get down on my knees for her.  and everything is wrong in my world because I am wrong and awful. 

I started thinking of the book Glamorama and thinking I need to reread it very quick. I also realized I’m an utterly worthless individual who’s never done anything worthwhile in his entire life.  My mother should have had that abortion.  It’s entirely my fault though, no one else’s.  I cannot underestimate how great it felt to this album on the way to work.  the cover image is super sexy.  Is that important.  I don’t know anything.  What kind of camera is that?  I thought of Inland Empire and the affordable camera David must have used.  Such a difficult piece of work.  fuck the fucking future.  This music is so very much of the present and that’s exactly how it should be.  It’s a definitive statement for right now.  And that’s why it will last, because of it’s purity.  Purity amongst this plasticity.  Plasticity is not a bad thing.  This is a plastic palace (alice).  This is a kingdom created out of artificiality.  But because of that texture it will never rot (to Eno).  No, this is more real than almost anything else out there.  it’s more real than me.  certainly.  It scares me sometimes with how real it is.  In 7 years, with the emphasis like that, it’s too beautiful for me to handle.  Intensity, yearning throughout this.  And all I want to do is beg for forgiveness and then fucking die.  Just fucking die because I’m such a worthless piece of shit and it hurts to listen to this because it is so good and I don’t feel like…I don’t really deserve anything good.  That’s a fact.  But this is so vital and wonderful.  Its like I can sneak listens and the soul police won’t have time to nab me.  the synthetic godliness of it all.  I watched the movie Lucy again the other day and still loved it.  It would fit.  And New Rose Hotel and eXistenZ.  And then when the gorgeous Detonate starts up and I’m reminded of Weeping Wall from Low and I want to be washed away.  I want to utterly disappear, just be fucking annihilated by this music.  Live deep deep inside of it and then die inside of it.  How long can I stay there.  Mother, please forgive me.  “I don’t trust myself at all”.  This is lovely.  I was reminded of 1.Outside which means more to me than….  Oh, I stay in there for so long and how wonderful that new constructs are being created.  New places where I can stay and learn “the heart’s filthy lesson”.  Already I am building something so grand in Italy.  I just want to be held and told that everything is going to be okay.  I want to be comforted in a language I don’t speak.  And when I hear the mention of holy water I think of Madonna, two different versions.  Last summer too, always something there for me.  please forgive me because I am utterly awful but I feel so deeply thankful for this music.  Thank you God for blessing me with music and this music and art and allowing me to live inside of it.  Mother, please forgive me, please pray for me.  When Enemy swells I feel like there is nothing else around.  And for a moment I can forget what a worthless piece of shit I am. 

Reading from the aforementioned work, all of this created on a laptop, on the road maybe.  That was the future then and this is the present now and tomorrow and this is how it should be, the only way.  Biology overrated.  We live in a glorious plastic world.  Bat for Lashes last album made me cry too.  Dashed off.  necessary to work with speed, express what you are feeling in the moment.  Oh, the sweet beauty of isolation.  The separation of my illusion from the reality of the flesh.  There is no poetry in me anymore, probably never was. 

But frequently, something real emerges from all of this.  C2.0, from that soundscape emerges there in the middle, something kind.  And I feel comforted.  I’m so self and stupid and awful.  But this is what I need right now.  this act of creation feels so pure.  And vital. and deeply resonant.  It makes me want to ask for forgiveness and believe it may be possible.  But it lives in an area of rich indulgence.  Unabashed. 

Yes I listened to Charli XCX’s new album on the way to work this morning and wanted to kill myself again.  I can’t shake that feeling.  It doesn’t really matter.  But the music made me feel good and I could hold back the bad tears for the time being and let loose with the good tears. 

10/10

even third (perfection)

Outlining a new project in the early mornin’.  More frantic now after so much liquidity.  I fall into nonsense right away.  A bit sentimental in the evening, eh?  Everything held together by such a fragile thread.  Was it fish and chips.  Ten dollars for fish and chips, what the fuck?!  Yes, it was the same location.  Odd looking dogs.  I loved the way you said the word torture.  Spring dress.  Green and some point.  Cornflower.  Have to remember everything.  Close at the potluck.  Smile.  Hug.  Very flattering.  Nothing matters anymore, chance encounter later on at a place with a lot of western wear.  Boy am I a worthless individual.  Don’t want to let this go even though it was always nothing.  I ascribed meaning to it but it was nothing.  But I would feel the absence too much.  Can’t even put it into words right now.  And I see how much difference a decade makes.  Boy was I stupid or what?!  Why do I say was?!  Want someone else to see me succeed or know when I die.  I need to bury this now.  Shoulda been tipped off when reading was denied.  Of course it was.  What a worthless soul.  Me.  have to pinpoint the substitute for love.  Oh appropriate afterward the predecessor to perfume following the substitute. 

No paint now.  And on the chair.  So wonderful.  Forward and back.  That’s why it’s post now.  Death abyss.  Makes sense not the train of mind.  Little death.  Tell the truth.  It’s all the same as yesterday’s writings.  Right down to being Outside.  So filthy.  That’s the word I was looking for yesterday and what I am.  So lovely with and without the mask, new muse.  Dying in sweetest sin. 

That was much of the day, right?  Though my internal chronometer was malfunctioning (my skin needs to be a bit more metallic yellow and oh how I long to return but it must a reward after so much self chosen shit, thanks to that mad season, reconnecting after so many years at my tender age, young and old again, but still ultimately nothing).  Eyes are going to fall out soon.  Still thinking about that hotel (which of course brings to mind the motel and still another location with encroaching technology and treacherous identity).  Need to buy a tattered old book and at  some point flight myself from very very high stairs in a big commercial building, screaming with unbridled joy while I do this.  And then BAM I crack my big dome on the hard hard floor and there’s lots of delicious deep red blood everywhere!  But yeah, for much of the day I was trying to figure out the difference in the time zones, seeing when this all happened.  Those brief seconds were my only solace today.

The sexiest I’ve seen in ages.  Total obsession.  Oh how I long to have a drink in a dark smoky locale.  Far far away from here.  I’m creating a pedestal right now. Creating an ideal.  Constructing an elaborate fantasy.  I’m so pedestrian, I’m so much ugly nothing.  I’m putting little hearts everywhere but always through the glass.  There is no real connection anymore.  Lots of strangers out and about.  I know who I am.  But there in that dark location.  I have a drink in hand.  And it’s happening right in front of me, the perfect balance, never too far but always the maximum.  Or something.  I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying but wait yes I do.  Would your gaze fall upon me?  oh please let it be so, let it fall on me and you point to me and smile and start dancing my way.  And something lost and thrown.  Perfumed. 

To die under your gaze, he thinks.  To be eaten by you, to drown in your mouth, drown in your saliva, to be crushed between your teeth. 

Sweets now.  Sweets for the sweet but there is no place for that hear.  Any evil?  That’s me, I think.  No, I’m losing things again, gotta straighten myself out with another drink.  Disguises.  Cookies and cream.  Thick cake.  So many layers.  Pie.  Sheer sugar rush.  Dulces.  But how can I say this with the most appropriate applicable way possible.  There are answers on the great white album and I need to dig it out.  Can’t forget about the second component.  Bouquet.  In both senses here.  but I’ve run out of words again.  I need to figure it all out. 

Standing over me now.  And with so much precision…..  lowering me to the ground.  Tightly wrapped.  A sweet tender smile.  Maternal.  Painful and then gentle and back and forth back and forth.  Allowing breath just as much as absolutely necessary.   You’re telling me now that everything is okay everything is okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s all going to be okay.  But of course these words are not as I know them.  And continuing on.  (to me) “I’ve got you.”  Just going to sleep…don’t fight it…don’t struggle…only make it worse, let it happen.  Holding my trembling hand in one and with the other applying more and more but still with that tender and merciless expert precision.  And then it’s all out and dark.  Waking up later and laying on…looking up, laying on…thinking back to the chair….  And now with comfort stroking his hair and saying again that its okay and not to please not to resist so much next time.  what a lovely smile.  Then I am her footrest and then she eats me.  sweetest sin.  All going back to the same thing.  Oh please to die under your gaze.  Same desire.  Wanting to die in your arms.  Sugar.  Don’t you cry. 

Of course must give a bit of credit to JG here.  more than a bit.  And still more to the sweetmeats.  Confectionery heaven.  This sugar palace I have made my prison, how I adore. 

Man I love that neighborhood threat cover.  Must have listened to it 57 times in a row recently. 

even again (always waiting for the kiss)

I realized early on today (which is now likely yesterday) that I truly am the tomato based man.  Everything’s blurry again.  So rare for me to focus on the feeling afterward in terms of words.  Strong feelings of emptiness.  All my fault of course.  Re-purchases.  What had me today?  Of course it was the hunt for justice.  In pastels.  And fishnet pantyhose.  Always gets me in the end.  It’s not a question of willpower or all the other great phrases we throw out to cover the simple fact that we are weak and foul.  Sorry, I won’t include anyone else.  I am weak and foul.  I am the tomato based man (reminds me a bit of the words of a great great great man who once professed in one of my most cherished works that he is Ramona A. Stone.  Which reminds me that I’ve been listening to Iggy Pop’s 1981 album Party a lot these past few days and have been loving it.  I love Pop.  I also love the song All the Lovers and it’s a regular part of the…after buying the…which makes the heart race.  I also love indigo.  And the alien).  Yes, in those early hours all I wanted to do was watch The Vampire and the Ballerina, one of the sexiest movies I’ve ever seen.  I can remember the sweaty summer days. 

And of course this very morning I was also struggling with a lack of language knowledge.  For candy again.  Lovely new obsession and necessary muse.  Exactly what I…  hard to believe….  And across various platforms I could not be more blissfully disconnected and reveling in sin.  Transmitting across oceans.  The pleasure arrives much later one.  it originates in a spell and then traverses time to arrive at my fingertips.  I’m so full of shit.  What to comment?  What to say?  There’s no protocol.  The ankle on the tattoo.  “my father ran the prison.”  Apropos of nothing: I do so love the music of Scott Walker.  Ah that close proximity of Lodger to Nite Flights and then again with Outside to Tilt.  All so necessary.  More boiling heat.  And burning rubber and this music in the sun machine and by nightfall I was travelling that familiar road with the mystery man.  No, I am falling for candy now.  Not now, been that way for a very long while.  Branching off that first paragraph I need to read a bit more about Ivan as he contributed such a strong and memorable number.  I’ll always remember buying ink and paper in the morning and wanting to die (but in a depressing way).  And then learning you had moved on.  And I didn’t even know.  But that morning it was the only composition which made me feel good.  And then your iteration was beautiful.  And now wanting to die under candy’s gaze.  Wanting to die under the gaze of…black and white recently and pastel blue earlier one, sweet bouquet, if only I could discern everything inside, to die under your gaze, sweetest sin. 

And what really killed it.  Hosiery again.  And luchadoras.  Ah luchadoras, what has kept me willfully enslaved for a lifetime.  Now in white and in black.  Justice in white.  Seen before in the aforementioned pastels; teal and lavender, black turned to gold on top.  Justice.  Hunter.  Right to the middle.  Please afterward rest your feet on me, my face.  Let me breath in so deep.  Berate please.  Please berate.  On a deeper level I am truly awful.  Oh, I need to let it all out but don’t know how.  I am ugly and repulsive and a failure.  A real classic piece of shit.  My words fail me.  understand, words don’t fail me, MY words fail me.  fucking idiot.  That is me.  dumb fucking piece of shit.  I looked up and saw the Miles Davis album In a Silent Way was right there. I do so love that album.  I need to learn more, so much still escapes my understanding.  Pestilence in the air as the visual representation of my soul.

Ah, just a glance.  I see what happened now.  Mired in the corruption el fin del dia.  Not even necessary that little lapse right there.  lovely accented words somewhere through the waves.  Ah, the wonders of technology; inked captured through the plastic and then fingered while rubber burned and it was wrong at first but this most direct of signs was ignored for desire of sin and so it was tried again and reached and afterward the number 9 summed it all up.  Kept going and going and wouldn’t it be nice if it had simply been left to continue.  In person.  it was the phrasing of course.  Through this I could almost finally picture that lovely smile.  Why so much uncertainty?  Don’t you understand.  The magnificence.  Laughter while discussing the concrete.  We do it all for the concrete.  Even if you can never walk on it.  We can look at the concrete.  It will happen.  Everything changed, everything beautiful.  Perfect word.  What the hell is wrong with me.  acknowledgement by a big steaming pile of garbage hahaha!  On a related noted I’m something of a big steaming pile of shit.  It was the transparency again, up above.  Arms.  The familiarity.  Coupled with the black and white.  Seen through the…coming from soda…never realized the elegant simplicity of venetian.  It’s difficult to believe.  And then this one, descending but always so so so high above merged with justice, with pastels, the black turned to gold was just the right approximation and it all merged and it was all corruption and sin and evil and it was allowed to be released and then there was only emptiness which is all there ever is and all there ever will be. 

Forgot about that photo yesterday of the Little Star.  The most pretty.  But also the most….  Fell deeply in love all over again. 

Then I realized, if only I worked in a gas station I would understand. 

even

Been recaptured now, yes?  Sin recaptured.  To die in sweetest sin.  Dying beneath her gaze.  Evil flowers, need to read more.  The truth is I need to read more.  Remembering now a summer ago or was it two summers ago and frantically running.  Glorious.  Yes, escalators escalators escalators.  Its all recaptured now, white and fuschia, different from the first time around, still can’t get a word in edge wise, and braille again, and I think I remember all this great ultraviolet light and I think I should go to the doctor soon because I can barely see.  But senses so recently fully alive, in the center of this storm. 

Invited to like the Candy.  Don’t know if it’s good idea.  But don’t know if its bad idea.  Actually, not true.  Of course I know.  We always know.  And we do it anyway because we want know.  We love to.  Read the books (in black and white).  I’m going to show you how weak you are.  it’s right there.  to die in sweetest sin. Kidnapped soon.  Symbol of the scorpion there on the skin.  And lotus.  And there were elephants everywhere.  And the Virgin.  Everyone present and accounted for?  Noticing the blue, right?  Bright blue, powerful wonderful blue, hugging blue.  And black on top.  Deep black.  And that a galactic color right there.  tips. 

Everything comes in the magic numbers.  This glorious return of corruption.  What we were begging for.  Twice now…white and…can’t think of the word.  But sun drenched.  White and black underneath.  I know the style but can’t speak to it.  Loveliest smiles everywhere.  Yes, I see now, three and one, three real and one not but really all not.  Real isn’t quite the right word, is it?  So much illusory these days.  Descending endlessly.  The beginning of the regression.  Desire regression.  Yes and then decked all in black.  Glorious patterns.  Denier.  Top, underneath and over everything.  Over everything.  Try to lock this away.  Unwrapping down below.  To die for.  Simply to die for.  Glorious subjugation.  Glorious mercy.  What could be greater?  Surrender myself to sweetest sin and to die right there.  there is nothing left inside of me but sin.  Scratched all away and center is just crazed and ugly and without a shred of good. 

This is different from the woman in the mirror.  Another change while we’re all suspende din gaffa.  Dolphins again and that insane connection, while we swim again.  No words between us.  Great symbols of fear become equally powerful symbols of desire and like that we’re off and I’m forgetting everything I hold dear and surrendering to the glories of corruption and my soul is deteriorating.  There is no true loneliness anymore, all messages unnecessary.  Can’t even say this again, gatubella. 

Silly me, I’d forgotten how we are all like astronauts.  Oh these endless longings.  How can my pleadings for forgiveness be real and disingenuous at the same time?  the invitation.  Of course for the words to flow I need…something.  What sorts of groups, numbers I mean, did these come in in the classical canonical texts?  That would likely explain everything.  And nothing.  Of course the floodgates will be open again, the miles available once more.  The jackal who is not the jackal.  Dare he hope.  And everything will be ruin again.  Glorious ruin.  And the rhapsody in blue?  Ever again.  I am so so awful. 

That beauty I was affording things was most certainly not real.  Or let me specify.  Nothing coming from me was pure or beautiful.  Everything coming from me was impure and awful and ugly and corrupt.  Tainted.  My insides are rotten.  My soul is appalling.  I see now though…about running like a river.  The feeling.  Stolen away.  Kidnapped away.  The invitation.  Second invitation.  Doing what you know is wrong.  The feelings of freedom and elation and remembering…something.  Going back over and over again.  To finally escape, desperate to know what that feels like.  Desperate to wipe everything out, making everything crumble down.  destroy there and lie vacant in your sweetest sin.  No, that’s not how it would be either.  It’d be so meaningful.  So lovely.  So kind and warm and lovely.  He can’t tell what is real anymore.  More accurate, he can’t tell what is the grand self deception.  What I have always searched for.  Wants to believe in something.  Nights of the merciful. 

The desire to feel crazy again.  Everything delirious and out of control.  Believing there is still a chance at something.  The desire makes you dizzy.  You are an addict of self destruction. 

Gotta leave something for the night.  Morning brings no clarity.  Revisiting the old instigators in different languages.  All the different ways I can scream.  Electricity.  I should have been a bug man and then drink from my own supply.  It’s all a matter of perspective.  Too much Sugar lately.  Not really accurate but you, that is, I, know what I mean.  And always upon wake the dreams of death.  I see now the awful manipulations.  May fault.  Of course the modesty has me now.  And the persistent invitation.  Just waiting on more and more.  All in the senses, taken out of a tiny box.  They should just see me lying stiff and cold.  Perspective again.  Like a mob.  What was revisited was thrashed around.  All sorts of different ways to command that opening.  Massive steel arm.  Half feline again.  And orange and black and a massive cable.  And then bent and bent and stabbed, teeth grinding.  Lose and lose and lose, never learn, do you?  Ripped off and choked and dropped and fallen and crashed and out and left behind.  And this replicates itself and replicates itself and appears timid at first but it’s all an act.  A glorious act.  And the eventual undoing.  From two and then four different sides.  Punished. 

In a glorious dream Ana Barbara smiled at me and kissed me.  she was wearing red I believe. 

Jennifer was the body double for Meg.  Love it.  And loved it. 

all red bar and computers i never see and don't get the transactions, i am so empty like everythign else (and CIWI19 p. 3)

Lifeforce, I remember a very attractive woman and a strange kiss.  I remember this being surprisingly dull and thinking it should have been good. 

Showgirls is a movie I adore.  It’s a satirical deconstruction of the American dream.  Looks great too. 

High Flying Bird was a sports movie I really loved but then again I am a Soderbergh junkie and this fits right in with that fascinating string of film like Bubble, Girlfriend Experience and Haywire and other things I can’t remember but I’m sure I adored. 

Memories of Murder is one of my all time favorite movies.  So is Zodiac but I can see how much Fincher took from Memories. 

Get Shorty was good lark, nice Saturday early evening kind of movie.  I liked the book more but I still liked this movie.

At Eternity’s Gate is a lovely little movie.  Very very on the nose and that should bother me more but it didn’t, maybe because I’m too big of a willem fan. 

The Seven Samurai is something I need to rewatch.  It was difficult. 

Inglorious bastards  gets better every time I watch it.  My opinion has changed quite a bit since first viewing

Heavenly Creatures is my favorite peter Jackson film.  Is it the dividing line?  Still need to see the frighteners to know for sure.

After Hours was great.  I understand why it gets overshadowed by other work in the director’s oeuvre but this deserves more…something…can’t think right now, it deserves more something though. 

The Maltese Falcon I never quite understand but I like it.

The Big Sleep I didn’t understand but i…

The Scent of Green Papaya was lovely! Just bought Ciclo and need to check out everything by this guy and need to rewatch this with a scotch. 

Hostel is crap but that one scene still works. 

Fighting With My Family was good.  Basic tropes. Prefer Glow.  What a dumb comparison by me.  this was good.

Black Coal, Thin Ice was GREAT noir.  Gets better each time.  very subtle.  Very uncompromising.  Just watched wild goose lake too…but I think I’ll still prefer….

Who Framed Roger Rabbit  ihad never seen before. It had some top knotch animation.  And the always reliable gunton. No, stupid me I meant Hoskins.  My fingers are freezing up right now.  I really liked the first three fourths and not as much the last fourth but overall I dug it. 

Meet the Feebles totally worked for me, back when Jackson made movies I could endorse. 

Water is something for which my own ignorance betrayed but I need to understand deeper and explore further, both in and of itself and of the ouvre from the creator. 

Chasing lust now, eh.  Something like that.  Meeting at the open space, as predicted due to all the liquidity.  The issues of liquidity.  Though humorously it started off about a change, an augmentation not related to culinary arts.  And then progressed to liquidity.  Talking about bouquets the night before in old pages, how I wanted that bouquet.  A little joke, lovely smile.  Black and white during this iteration then frantically running out to meet and then closely observed ascension and then a return and so quick, need to absorb every detail.    

Old texts have me.  is it a coincidence just as 36 has me.  likely not.  There is not much else I’m sorry to say.  Other than that revelation about hotel rooms.  There is an encroaching distance.  Evil everywhere.  Look at how trite all that other stuff was.  I am in search of sin.  Never have to look far.  Candy again.  There’s no meaning to anything anymore.  Live and in living color.  Meat and potatoes style.  Twice in a row really.  The softest pair set aside for just such an occasion.  felt like crying while eating a granola bar today. 

Unexpected peace.  Remembrances.  Torn away by my own anger.  Listened to mad season last night and this morning, felt appropriate.  Johnny mysticism showed up to buy me a drink at some point.  I’m reading a very good book right now and it has a yellow cover. 

Ripley Under Ground is a great book.  Just great!  it was just so complete!  So fucking complete.  Loved the skull bit.  And the humor, really good humor, placation, new headlines.  I couldn’t call it.  Real elegant and precise prose.  Wish a proper movie was made of it (or that I could see the one that was).  I love Tom on the page so much.  This was just dark and comical little gem.  Man, I loved this book.  I need to acquire an old hardcover copy and read it outside during a sweaty summer, maybe while drinking a margarita even though I don’t really like margaritas. 

I missed my red circle chance years.  I FUCKING BLEW MY RED CIRCLE CHANCE BECAUSE I’M A GIGANTIC UGLY FUCKING LOSER WHO FUCKS EVERYTHING UP AND I REALLY REALLY REALLY FUCKING HATE MYSELF!      And it in some ways it is also blue, like staring down a barrel, and boy I just really fucked that up and now no red cirlce for me.  it’s like that glorious piece of gold rubber which will never be mine.  just as well.  Everything I touch turns to shit.

In love with candy bloom. 

I was drinking cheap vodka and watching a late 90’s Abel Ferrara movie recently.  Or was i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Trying to figure out this grainy phase.  Akin to the blackout.  Feels very honest, very cold.  I had a limp and then with a laugh I leaped from the stairwell, fatally cracking my dome like an egg when I hit the hard tiled corporate story floor.  Tech, need to try and reread, last time I was in a bar with a sports game on and couldn’t focus for some reason.  I miss bars.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I was to know.  Gonna listen to free soon, not the band.  Oh yeah, then I read swamp thing comic books.    

And yes and yeah it’s all empty now and nothing really has any feel to it I suppose it could be worse (blood).  I don’t  know, it all feels so meaningless.  And everything is fading, vision, hearing, whatever. 

I can’t figure anything out.  I have no voice.  36 has me.  lists have me.  back when I was using frog puppets to make my philosophical points.  Back when I was waking up on red sheets.  This river still reminds me of another river. 

sin because (and CIWI19 p. 2)

Of course in recent days I’ve been watching far too many Candy Bloom videos.  Or have I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  No, I definitely have.  Addiction is forming.  Have you read Naked Lunch?  Burroughs perfectly describes what its like…read the books.  Shame told me that.  It means shame, right?  That stranger I encountered on black and white new York streets.  Oh yes, but Candy Bloom, so wonderful, bountiful.  I would be your slave.  What’s the cost?  Anything!  Anything!  Anything for my face to be used as her footrest after a long hard night of burlesquing.  Oh, I am truly vile and putrid.  It hasn’t been all Bloom though, I’ve been breaking things up with luchadora videos, specifically barefoot ones (though not entirely bare, they’re still wearing hosiery!  Oh God what is wrong with me?!  Denier!  Denier!  Their soles crushing my face after a good match is perfume of the gods!  I’m awful! Awful!)  Just choke me out using the hosiery clad crook of your knee!  Please!  Oh man, I need help.  And now remembering the one of ice.  Yes, seeing now as never before, black lace and nylons and heels.  And of course, must admit, must mention, celestial.  Something celestial.not given the proper respect for so long.  Even though an integral part in one of my favorites.  Played to a t.  jobber  expert jobber.  And then so recent.  Entwined.  And then like that.  See, total underestimation.  Couldn’t handle a viewing. Deep in the throes.  Luchadoras have me.  countless hours.  The look of the hosiery after the match has gone on for 10 minutes or so.  Oh, sweet denier.  Oh heaven scent aromas…if only.  The icy one again, loving when I scream.  Stand and strangle me with your hosiery clad ankles. Why  no response?  I missed it today!  I fucking missed it!  I was watching so close and I fucking missed the only worthwhile opportunity of the miserable fucking day! but then coffee made me feel better.  Fishnets have me. 

I’m reading a couple books right now, liking one and loving the other.  The one I’m loving has 8 or so sequels.  I think I’ll purchase them as well.  Oh yes, make no mistake, I still hate myself.  More than ever.  I am by far my least favorite person.  it’s hard to imagine that ever changing. 

Gotti was utterly delightful!  Great makeup job too.  The Miami Vice pilot (feature length, 96 minutes) was great Mann art.  I am currently enjoying the series very much and am reminded at how in many ways I prefer older shows to contemporary ones.  I remember really liking If Beale Street Could Talk when I first watched it and thinking it was also a beautiful looking film and I would like to see it again but I guess it didn’t stick with me as something major.  This and Moonlight both seemed a bit too calculated and carefully crafted, very well made but just too overworked to be truly moving for yours falsely.  Madeline’s Madeline was of the real avant-garde stripe but as such was a stellar example, stuck in my diseased brain.  Need to buy it and have it on every night.  Speaking of, I loved Aquaman on first watch (during which I was wearing an orange shirt and after the viewing I texted a friend and told her I was wearing an orange shirt) and my fondness has since continued to grow.  It’s a comfort food type of movie for me, lot of good cheese, well filmed action.  Polar was a shameless John Wick ripoff (I don’t care if the comic came before that great franchise) but was still salvable due to the game performance of Mads Mikkelsen and some gritty action.  I loved Cam.  Great viewing on a Thursday or Friday night, seems appropriate for this age and I liked the unexplained tinge of supernatural, one I’ll definitely watch many more times.  The Favourite was pretty damn impeccable and my favorite so far from the director!  In many ways 2019 was the year of the cute bunnies.  I love the fisheyed things.  probably not the right term but I’m an idiot.  Need to buy this one.  hahahaha I loved Serenity and will tell everyone I come into contact with to watch it!  The sheer audacity!  I need a fishfinder.  It’ll make a perfect double bill with another movie coming up here.  I fucking loved Serenity!  At many points I watched the Suspiria remake last year.  Diligent readers may recall its spot at number 2 on my favorite movies of 2018 list.  It still continues to entrance, befuddle, and fascinate me.  I think about and obsess over it for at least 9 hours of every day.  Bumblebee was another movie I loved!  I guess I’m just full of love today!  It had a lot of color!  A lot of heart!  A lot of great music!  A really strong and charismatic lead performance!  And the transformers actually looked like themselves! And damnit, I loved Velvet Buzzsaw too!  Really hilarious in parts.  The horror elements didn’t really work but I appreciated the ambition and novel setting and so I can overlook that!  Memorable says I! Saturday Night Fever is a deserved classic.  Has some unexpected topicality to it.  Travolta is in his element.  Still holds up.  Still works.  Muriel’s Wedding a little gem more people should seek out.  Toni Collette never disappoints.  This is a Saturday night movie for me.  Kill Bill Volume 2…eh, I liked it more than part 1 but I still don’t like either of these movies and they are by far the worst things Tarantino’s ever done in my opinion.  Go watch the movies these two reference but skip these two themselves.

Whiskey in hand. I am the face of failure.  Destroying me.  I am destroying me.  read the books.  So useless.  I am so utterly useless.  All for nothing.  Controlled by my big nothing.   And right now it’s all being recalibrated to start all over again.  To take control all over again.  But I have no one else to blame.  That ugly awful thing regularly seizing control is just my true self. 

I really love the movie Swamp Thing.

crud (and CIWI19 p. 1)

The mule I consider to be good Eastwood lark.  Maybe slightly more than lark.  Maybe a good bit more than lark.  It feels like a very sweet little coda to a great career.  I do wish he’d do a few more takes sometimes but I understand that’s his style.  There were some pretty and curvy ladies in some scenes too which I loved.  I’m a bad person and I really hate myself.  Once upon a time in mexico is a movie I’ve seen multiple times, one of my all time favorites and has a very specific and special significance to me which I won’t go into here.  it is a deeply important film for me.  I’m sure I’ll watch dozens more times.  It has a really great soundtrack too.  Buy the album!  And cook Puerco pibil!  I made it recently and it turned out good but I don’t really care that much cause I’m not a foodie.  However this trend on these particular entries will not last. 

Cruising I watched while drinking some really awful sangria thing and then I think I watched the gus van sant psycho remake later on when I was drunk.  Cruising I loved though and recently acquired the special edition blu ray.  It really feels like an ominous grim thing now and something which could never be made today.  Love the germs soundtrack too.  Do I qualify?                             

Psycho (remake).  Well looks like I was right.  I grappled with this one for years but now I see it as a bold experiment very much ahead of it’s time.  American Psycho I’ve watched multiple times as I think it is quite hilarious.  I think it is a great book, a true classic, but only a good movie.  The Ritual was a solid horror movie with some effective creepy moments and a monster I dug.  I would recommend it to any horror fans.  The House That Jack Built (theatrical cut) did it’s job well and pretty much what I expected from Von Trier.  Matt gave a GREAT performance and he was scarier than Bale’s Bateman if I have to compare the two.  There is also one very creepy and grotesque image in a fridge that remains etched in my brain.  I really liked this one. 

Death Proof is a movie I just adore and I’ve watched it many a time.  it always makes me hungry for nachos.  I’m a big Kurt fan.  I think this is an underrated gem and I would like a 457 hour cut!  Sideways was a great movie and one I shall return to.  The Last Wave was an odd one.  there was some haunting apocalyptic imagery.  And then I thought of a later period episode of millennium.  I always enjoy things bathing in paranoia.  In Between was a great film.  Honest Stories about women are very appealing.  I need to rewatch this again soon.  They’re not much alike but I have this kind of linked up with Princesas (which makes me cry) in my stupid mind. 

Nico, 1988 is exactly the type of biopic I like.  Great artist too.  I, Tonya of course I’d seen before.  I love it as an examination of the slipperiness of the truth, some good comedy too. 

Blown Away is just 90’s action crap, really bad, the U2 stuff was funny.  Mowgli I enjoyed.  It was an enjoyable version of this tale.  Don’t imagine why I would ever revisit it.  Feel kinda bad for Serkis that his passion project was beaten by the Disney thing.  Children of Men is a great looking movie.  Hisss I actually loved and wish she’d been given the chance to showcase her true vision.  Breaking Up was an enjoyable riff on a familiar thing but I’m partial to these types of movies and the actors.  Don’t think it’s really a hidden gem but it was a good watch.  Glass was by far the best of the trilogy. 

I would rank HBO’s miniseries The Outsider as among the very best of Stephen King adaptations.  Man, La Infernal looked lovely in that recent interview with the Caribbean.  A deadly obsession is taking hold.  My right forearm is growing tight and numb.  I recently started reading a gritty sweaty western novel and I liked the first fifty pages so much I immediately ordered another book by the same author!  That’s bold of me!  I’m getting into George Michael’s music these days.  I’m also finding that avante garde jazz is the only music which can match my current headspace.  Or is it?  The more I learn the less I want to know.  Soon, I’m going to buy a lot of 90’s comic books online.  I think my focus will be more horror gothic stuff or something: Hellblazer, The Demon, Ghost Rider, The Question and Vengeance of Vampirella.  These will be my focuses.  I need to look at lots.  Questions are always scarier than answers.  I think.  Need to read about aardvarks too.  And swamps.  I want to get the separate issues of From Hell.  Man, I love From Hell.  Sand.  Too long without sand. Milica keeps utterly annihilating my best resolve.  

I’m listening to the new Pearl Jam album.  Earlier I was listening to the new Nine Inch Nail albums.  These really took me back.  Yet there is still vitality here.  I’m outlining a new project.  Sometime this miserable fucking month.  I purchased several pairs of pantyhose recently.  I need a sponsor.  Oh encasement. Reverse.  I was watching the newest Sion Sono movie last night.  Apropos of nothing (or is it?) I need to join a suicide club.  Outer Dark did build to an eerie apocalyptic finale.  But I must say I think it’s a bit hypocritical of ol McCarthy to criticize some of the others for…something… magical realism or something.  I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore. 

Oh there was just a glance, a sacred second, a wave.  It was everything.  Camel.  Need to last as long as possible.  Remember descending, powdered blue.  I may again know the jackal who is not the jackal.  Tropical hot dog night had me this week.  And zorn.  Only certain things match my headspace anymore.  I am such a loser.  These days I’ve mostly been subsisting on Candy Bloom videos.  No, that’s not quite the right word.  Because it is joyous.  I’m so very thankful for her.  The other who obliterates my resolve. I am deeply madly truly in love.  I’ll see you at 18 o clock later on.  Oh please let it be so!