1,017

Where is my soft machine, I screamed out from my position of ultimate non power!  And now there is a truck pulling up.  There were frightening noises coming from beneath the floor last night.  I downed another shot or two of whiskey and/or vodka in order to calm my jangled.  I watched 3 James Bond movies over the weekend.  The one I liked the most was Octopussy and I reckon that is a great and zany adventure film.  It really worked for me!  It really fired on all cylinders!  I was drinking a jar of pasta sauce last night. 

On the verge of tears for most of the morning and something like a tension headache keeps building.  I have failed.  At what, he asks.  I have failed at everything.  I have failed at life.  I’m a loser, an utter failure.  No one else to blame but myself and there is some odd comfort in that.  I began writing a letter to someone I never see anymore and will likely never see again.  Touch of therapy, eh. 

So much banality.  I’m tempted to throw up in my hands and then drink it.  All my fault.  All this banality comes from me.  Forced to talk to people again.  Just listen to these instructions, all so fucking meaningless.  Oh how we desperately to the little pieces of nothing we carve out. 

You are going to be so sorry one day for the way you treated us.  You don’t got nothing to say that I wanna hear.  Just shut up!  I hope your fucking happy for this fucking mood you put me in.  why are you so stupid?  Goddamnit!  I can talk to you however the hell I want.  Sit down and take it.  You wouldn’t have made it.  Sneeze.  Don’t be rude!  You will be out of my life forever.  All he wants is someone to cook and clean up after him.  All you want is someone to take you places and buy you things.  With that attitude.  You can all just go to hell.  GODDAMNIT!!!  I will blame you for the rest of your life.  14! 14! Grow up, they’re not your family.  (wanted to show him the diary pages).  You can go live with her whenever you want. Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Rude.  Inconsiderate.  Ungrateful.  “I’m sorry.”  Lately you’ve bene saying a lot of things you should be sorry for.  You will be out of my life forever.  Silence now, silence, silence, silence (though happiness around others).  Other kids would die to have this.  You don’t got nothing to say that I want to hear.  Silence for many days.  GODDAMNIT!!!  Don’t be surprised if one of these days I just leave.  Go tell him what happened with the phone conversation. Are you going to deny God? 

It occurred to me then that I need to invest in my own Word Hoard.  This is the key to everything.  I keep a copy of The Soft Machine with me wherever I go.  Back in my high school I used to throw pants-shitting parties!  They were all the rage.  We’d all gather around, swap stories and just literally shit our pants.  I need to bring these parties back, reunite the old gang.  My copy of the soft machine has a pink cover.  I would love to spend hundreds of dollars and obtain a first edition copy. Then one day when I turn into a vampire I’ll find a pretty freshly turned vampire and offer to lend her my copy.  My favorite pens are the Pilot Precise V7 RT.  I order them by the baker’s dozen, always in rich blue.  Speaking of blue, I need to buy a copy of Perfect Blue.  I’ve been watching Ju-On Origins on Netflix recently.  That is, when I’m not crying, bitching, pissing and moaning about how worthless I am (but there’s an extra layer of comedy there because I really am all those things).  

I’m excited that Kylie Minogue is set to release a new DISCO themed album in November and look forward to hearing the new single this coming Friday! 

The greatest thing, the ultimate goal, would be able to write something as pure as Detonate by Charli XCX and/or as lovely as Ce N’est Pas Un Reve by Francoise Hardy.  I can live inside those songs and temporarily not want to die.  Something like Bowie’s Outside album.  Pieces of my worthless soul and disgusting heart hide in there and for blissful moments receive solace. 

I’ve begun writing letters to someone with whom I’ll likely never speak with again.  It’s comforting in the short term.  “I love working with you.”  Are there any dreams left?  Words are leaving me behind in this worthless place I have created.  Fear I may have no more viable constructs left.  

Something I’ve mentioned in all of this crap reminds me of the lovely Scott 3.  Of this, I need more of.  It was the 19^th anniversary of JP3 the other day.  I remember the first time I ever saw it. Kinda harkens back to something written earlier.  And the first few Amaral records.  I’m reminded of those by Francoise.  As I approach this loveliness, I feel ever more terrible.  I realize that booze helps stave off these terrible feelings.  I continue to take some measure of comfort in that I only have myself to blame. Sion Sono is also inspiring.  Ugly things feel very true.  I miss you.  I realize now the hypocrisy present in those blocks of time. Yet so much comes down to money.  I miss talking.  But there was so much that was illusory, correct?  I imagined most of it.  And it still came true anyway, haha.  Maybe this agent can help me for awhile in those blissful moments when I am about to fall asleep and in those caustic, awful moments when I first wake up and realize I am still me. 

She was singing to me in my dreams the other night. 

I need to read the book Rebecca.  I am woefully not well read. 

The Spy Who Loved Me is such a lovely film. 

incomplete dull crap

Another merry day of failure is before me.  I love the bass line to atmosphere.  My construct is utterly failing me.  Hot tears in my eyes.  I don’t even know what my construct is anymore.  Italy has abandoned me.  Everywhere has.  Maybe I can find some comfort in the dulcet tones of the French language.  I should have had a second cup of coffee.  Quick, someone get me a bottle of sleeping pills that I may down them all.  I think I’m going to order a tom Clancy book on ebay and an Elizabeth hand book.  Strange how the moon keeps beckoning to me.  I wonder if that is the reason for my lack of sleep lately.  Or it could just be the weight of my innumerable personal failures causing unrest.  Hard to talk to anyone.  Hard to look at them.  So much grotesquery around me.  And me the foul rotting center of it all.  Last night bad.  No interest.  No active engagement.  Oh God, someone get me a bottle of something.  Man, I love jack kirby’s artwork.  The pages can barely contain the energy in his lines!  I’ve been reading Galilee by Clive Barker lately.  I find it to be increasingly engrossing with many quite lovely and inspirational passages.  It’s been one of my only legitimate escapes these days.  Thanks Clive.  Because all muses have left me.  I have no solace anymore.  Too many drones.  Lets all be happy about devoting our lives to things that don’t matter!  Brilliant! As long as we’re fucking though.  Pleasures of the flesh make up for everything.  I treasure rationalizations.  Tears now.  Tears again. Cradle him in your arms.  Cradle him in your arms.  There is no one to do that anymore.  I just noticed I’m wearing a blue shirt today. My head hurts over how empty everything is and over how useless I am.  I was talking to people recently and it felt awful.  I hate talking to people.  Wish everyone would just leave me the fuck alone.  I sometimes think it would be quite comforting to wear a mask all the time.  I put on a big smile though.  My voice sounds funny.  My smile feels weird today like my mouth keeps shaking.  I love the smell of fresh paint.  I love the idea of mudding walls before painting them.  I love the word mud.  I loved the hbo Watchmen show.  Great stuff.  And Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross’s score was superb.  I purchased all 3 albums.  I feel like I’m swirling black hole of negative energy.  I know that doesn’t make sense but its how I feel.  I need a Xanax.  Anyone have any pills I can pop?!  Blame it on the rain.  I’ve been watching the Picard series too, I have one episode left.  Has something gone chemically wrong with my insides?  Is that why I feel so bad?  I can’t see very well right now.  I think I’m going to eat a granola bar soon. 

I think what follows is a collection of random thoughts and/or memories:

I remember encountering a love woman last week.  Tattooed, bejeweled, black hair, colorful shirt, jeans.  Caring for the sheep.  She was devastatingly beautiful.  The encounter made me so happy but I can’t feel any of that happiness right now.  I remember every detail but it doesn’t make feel anything except bad.  There is a foul taste in my mouth too.  My face wants to constrict.  Why can’t I glean any happiness from this pleasant encounter?  I don’t even feel desire.  All good things have left me. 

I don’t like absolute editions because they are too unwieldy and uncomfortable to read but for an instant I was sorely tempted by the absolute fourth world volume 1. 

A guillotine kind of looks like an hourglass. 

I need to buy some Miracleman comic books.  I’m starting a Clive Barker book today but I actually already have (see up top). 

Ah, the eschaton.  I need to learn more, make predictions.  The super Sargasso sea.  We’re all damned.  I need to buy three old books and find that hidden knowledge.  Old books have so much hidden and valuable knowledge. 

I love the Miami Vice movie.  I’m watching part of it right now.  I think I was happy in that moment.

And for a brief span of time Coralie made me happy.  I was reminded of running to expel the sense of giddy temptation.  There was true loveliness…when?  2 years ago I think.  Cream and cranberry.  Too afraid to go down the stairs.  Ice cream and coffee.  There was meaning amidst all the banality.  Swimming at night, safety and comfort in the center of a storm. 

Thinking of this…calm comes over me for a few seconds but quickly disappears.  everything good has left me.  I went to be unusually early last night because it just doesn’t pay to be awake sometimes.  doesn’t put bread on the table. 

I ate a turkey and swiss on wheat bread sandwich yesterday.  It satisfied my hunger.  I drank water with this sandwich. 

Breaking my own rules here cause I don’t have much else to say. It’d all be repetition.  just can't write anymore, all meaningless shit anyway. Oh, the photo of Chiquibaby on Instagram this morning was cute.  

nother week like last no company want

Bricks of viscera

I’m nothing if not a failure.  Man I have severely messed it all up.  I’ve a made a mess of being me.  I fucking hate myself so much.  Head hurts really bad right now.  Just gotta put on a happy face.  Complain about laundry.  I loved brushed nickel.  Muses fail me.  They no longer speak to me.  I fail them.  Toxic air in my head.  Robert james lees – where have all the good psychics gone?  Need that neal adams superman trade.  I’m enjoying val kilmer’s memoir.  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?  I only feel bad when I have to look at or talk to someone.

I like Helen’s performance (in the suit) a lot but man, Supergirl is a terrible movie.  Or is it?!  The more I learn the less I want to know.  I’m going to a store later one.  I hate myself so much.  I received a box of new pens over the new weekend.  It was easily the highlight of my worthless and wasted life.  My fault for being so useless.  These pens write like a dream though.  Brass is nice and all but nothing locks like brushed nickel!  I felt good the other day while listening to the Aladdin Sane album.  Love Panic in Detroit.  Italian thighs.  Glamour.  Atomic angel in white nylons. 

I am listening to Ray of Light roughly 40 minutes.  I’m betting someone lunch a few minutes, having doubts.  Ray of Light is one of those albums you can just live in.  I did live in it for awhile.  It’s five years ago and I’m listening to it in a dry enclosed space alongside someone who has a sexually transmitted disease.  We’re laughing at the randomness of life.  Last night I’m haunted by…how I made it all up.  I made it all up, I invented.  Pure fabrication.  But it all came true anyway.  That’s the most haunting thing.  I made it up but it all came true anyway.  What the fuck does that mean?  What forces are at work, behind the scenes and pulling all the strings.  I’m a puppetman. 

None of the old familiar things really work anymore. That’s what I recently realized.  I’ve become unresponsive to everything.  Curious.  I feel so lightheaded this morning.  I’m watching a Cronenberg movie.  It is slowly drawing me in.  I love Cronenberg. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about adepts and secret societies.  Cryptogovernments as well.  I think there is a hidden truth.  Sometimes I think I’m so close to seeing it.  The mysterious occurrences at Point Pleasant.  Was this demonic activity at work?  Interdimensional contact?  Extraterrestrial in origin.  All or none of the above?  I’m slowly become ever immersed and ever more terrified by the apparently thin fabric of reality.  There were Egyptian priests and plane geometry.  I noticed a book about a goddess this morning.  What are the dangers of knowledge?  Did I not say yesterday that we can only learn so much and live?  Again, not my words.  Thank you, Tom.  But Alan is the one doing the preaching of sorts currently.  But I am Alan, that is, I was Alan.  Again, I made it up but it all came true.  The true destruction of personality and identity is the only logical recourse.  I am thirsty I realize.  True and deadly knowledge is kept secret. 

Tomorrow I’m going to order a big fat collection of Silver Surfer comic books!  I’m also going to mail a package, buy booze, and visit the Catholic bookstore.  If I have any guts at all I’ll promptly throw myself into the river soon thereafter.  I’m curious if the local bridge is high enough to break the necessary when I hit the water!  This river reminds me of another river.  I think there’s somewhere else I want to go but I’ve forgotten.  Ah, now I remember.  I need to go to a retail store to purchase something.  I’ll probably stop somewhere for coffee too. 

Fulcanelli is somewhere lurking between the pages.  The quest for the philosopher’s stone; I wonder if true nobility exists in this modern age.  Immortality.  Is there horror in this?  What rituals have been kept secret.  Who comes looking for you once you open the door?  All sinister things are always more than willing to meet you halfway.  At least. 

Zone fusion and heavy water.  I personally still use mercury in all my experiments.  I’d never before considered transmitting through architecture. 

The ending of The Breakfast Club just made me burst into tears as it always does.  I love this film.  It is perfect.  I ordered some pens that are arriving tomorrow.  It is the only positivity I’ve felt this week. I just remembered how much I love the Prince album Lovesexy!  What a beautiful spiritual masterpiece!  I think I’m listening to it 7 hours from now. 

Selene, the moon goddess.  I may be buying some books about a goddess.  Have I mentioned that already?  I already own several.  Call it research. 

And then…just a bit ago, now, later, part of the construct.  The wind carried her perfume.  A gentle smile.  Please, let me feel something.  What has happened to my emotions?  Why can’t I feel anything anymore?  All desire has left me.  It used to trouble me.  It no longer does.  It is curious though. 

I love the song Dear Michelangelo, the Sheila E. version and the Prince version.  But which is the original?!  Its actually accurate to say they are both the original!  Isn’t that crazy?!  Another song I love is Pumpin’ For Jill.  A movie I love is Beatriz at Dinner. Taking a break from magic for a while.  Can’t get the text about the moon because I’m temporarily out of foreign currency. 

She’s got a smile like salvation. Hearing something like that while driving around now no wait it was actually a few days ago.  Ugh, I’m so useless.  I’m drinking water and chewing gum.  I’m starting to read a new book.  The band was called the pinks or something.  I am shit. 

lakes

I forget things a lot because I’m stupid.  I watched an incredibly nourishing film last night.  During the course of this I drank cheap whiskey, bourbon (Kentucky mash is the secret to health) and some very cheap Pinot Grigio.  I have three bottles of the stuff.  I believe I purchased them from a gas station.  It was a portrait of a lady on fire. Quietly devastating.  I recall crying last night.  I’m in a grey state right now.  I have been neglecting the construct inside myself.  The dream.  I need to return to the costume ball.  There must be something else, a new construct. I need to work more diligently on exterminating my personality.  I need to annihilate and create something different.  In its place something better.  I need to omit myself (as a favor for…).  I’m seeing red brush strokes atop scenic mountains.  Tears are welling up in my eyes right now, I feel a sadness induced constriction in my throat.  I close my eyes and take deep breaths and try to imagine I am somewhere else and then I realize the problem is not the location.  The problem is me.  No matter where I am I will always be me and this is the foulest of realizations; the most punishing of condemnations.  But you must accept this or make the only logical choice.  This would necessitate the utter destruction of an entire world but the world is corrupt and ugly and useless and so this destruction would not be tragic at all but in fact quite celebratory.  I picture my head exploding quite viscerally with chunks of flesh and bone splattering the walls of my posh flat.  I feel oddly depressed.  But somewhat relieved.  I have on occasion imagined myself as dead and it is a most interesting feeling.  Occasionally comforting in a way no one ever was.  I realize I’ve never felt comforted.  It is an utterly alien feeling.  But I don’t miss it.  Can’t miss something never felt.   

I’m listening to Shania Twain about an hour ago. 

There were 9 unknown men and 9 secret books of knowledge.  A few volumes were only given 1 sentence explanations.  I need to learn more.  And of course there is Pope Sylvester II and his bronze head.  Ah, the bronze head, providing such clarity in the midst of such strife.  I need to learn more.  Secret pacts.  We can only learn so much and live.  That last sentence is not my words but they are words which always stuck with me.  I wish at some point to be dancing the tango and not feeling like myself at all.  I can feel the strain in my neck now.  In my neck and up to my chin and down to my collar bone and sometimes all the way to my wrists and hands and in those moments my hands cease to work entirely and there is sometimes just the hint of elation as it seems possible to be anyone else. 

I need to reread those old Denny O’Neil and Neal Adams Green Lantern/Green Arrow trade paperbacks.  Those comics are so great and they still hold up.  What a team!  And what a team!  I love the way Adams draws Black Canary.  I love the way he draws anyone really.  And Denny was always so reliable, the work groundbreaking yet classically heroic in the best sense.  I don’t know anything.  I know where those trades are though.  I’m already pulling them off the shelf 9 hours from now and thumbing through them.  My ward is a junkie.  Oh, the thing I love about those specific reprints is that didn’t mess with the damned color!  I hate when they modernize the coloring techniques on classic comics!  It makes me so mad that my testicles nearly explode right out of the nutsack! 

I’m gonna pop antacids just for fun later in the day!  Then I’m going to read from old books of lost hidden knowledge.  I ate fried fucking chicken for breakfast.  Or did I?  the more I learn the less I want to know. I think I’ll eat a pizza pocket for lunch and wish I were somewhere else.  I wish I had future…anywhere.  I’m going to start watching the series The Good Witch because I need more wholesome things in my metaphorical TV/move/book/music diet.  Even if I detest it I’m committed to watching all 7 feature films and all 6 seasons.  Then maybe I’ll watch JAG.  I’m hoping this’ll take me back to my glorious to metaphorically devouring the show Ghost Whisperer.  Season 4 is still one of the most perfect seasons of television of all time!  Those were also the years where I was madly in love with Jennifer Love Hewitt.  In those halcyon days of yore my imagination could still save me from myself.  The constructs were easier, the dreams more fluid.  But the dreams seem over now. 

I’ve still been listening to that Trans album.  I’m a still a failure (chuckles to self).  Could From Hell be my favorite Alan Moore work of all time?  I haven’t read all his shit so I can’t say for certain but it continues to a be rich and rewarding work. 

I hope to watch that thing I mentioned earlier again and shed tears again.  I need art to bring the tears out of me.  Nothing else makes me feel anything except bad.  But I can’t cry over that bad stuff.  It’s all so awful and pointless.  Myself too of course, I’m certainly not exempt.  I’m the one who’s doing it.  Maybe I’m listening to Tamia on the drive home. 

Oh, the four stages of cruelty.  Why was I not so well acquainted before?  I was reading about the book of Ephesians yesterday.  And I think today too.  Fascinating to delve deep into time, place and authorship.  Its also a very nice little book.  Great starting point. 

I deserve the hatred I receive.  I remember feeling a tingle go through my whole body when she said I can go to hell. 

My muses slip through my fingers so easily these days. Hard to find any lasting inspiration or real meaning behind anything. 

I love signing documents.  I love being asleep.  

river

morning started out with coloured kisses which i realized may be one of my all time favorites. i need to buy something reheated.  and wax.  i need wax. and the couple under the alias.  but back to coloured kisses.  it always makes me feel so good and lovely.  it awakes in me emotions that i know i never truly feel and don't think i ever could.  i think at some point but this used to trouble but it no longer does.  it is enough to have this.  so much in life comes down to disappointments and then sad rationalizations.  of course right on that same piece of plastic is a proclamation of love which may very well be in the top ten of your humble and utterly worthless blogger.  i love being invited down to the kitchen.  this is necessary for the summer.  need to make a summer oriented list very soon.  but yeah, that one sounds perfect to me on a peaceful saturday night.  or in the mornings when i am at my most miserable.  it comforts me like no one else has ever been able to do.  also, did i mention that i am a foul miserable person?  but that music...so lovely.  i don't think there ever will be an opportunity and i can't feel too bad about that because its not as though i forsook an opportunity.  but if there is, i will be there.  rest assured.  by hook or by crook, i will.  you know, i also really dig Tamia's album Love Life.  sounds great whenever i put it on.  i need to listen to up! again.  i can't make the smiley face with the u.  red disc.  but maybe green next time.  and blue! sometime blue. i need to listen to a couple Janet albums soon too.  i don't know anything.  i really hate myself. but its a well deserved hate.  this morning there were no magicians in sight.  i was reading Outline by Rachel Cusk a couple weeks ago and I think it is one of my favorite books I’ve read this year. 

i'm miserable right now but i only have myself to blame so at least i can take some comfort in that.  clocks are so awesome.  i should have been a watchmaker.  i find synder's adaptation of moore's source text to be fascinating.  it goes well with a noble failure but it is better than a noble failure.  i do miss the squid though.  and i find that squidless denouement is a bit too literally gutless.  it literally lacks.  it was the gore and the grime form the source text that in part made it so effective.  

i'm listening to dancing in the dark while on the way to somewhere.  

mother forgive me. like the fabled spanish inn, i only ever find what i bring myself.  

strangeness quantum numbers have me.  the text with the red binding.  ancient and hidden books.  volumes containing a wealth of hidden knowledge.  where is my angel of the bizarre?  there is forbidden radiation and absolute elsewhere.  secret societies and esoteric languages are flooding my brain.  numbness in left neck yesterday while reading about alien abduction narratives.  need to balance this all out with Catholic mysticism.  i need scientific books.  i need to read about archaeology and paleontology.  oh, iguanodon, i loved your original form. ah, the old cassettes, black they were.  i remember scooping those beautiful jewels out of the mountain side.  and of course the magic crystals.  maybe my destiny has always been intrinsically linked with magical crystals and the transmutation of metals.  the Rosicrucian society has me.  further research is necessary. i feel nothing (fruitcake). research has pierced....

home life hates, needs to time to meditate.  don't get too personal now.  mask it!  which mask are you?!  i am certainly very deserving of hatred.  i certainly hate me.  Oh, Regina of the Three Letters again yesterday.  A new muppet show?! Yes!

familiar sources of inspiration:

TEN DOLLARS FOR FISH AND CHIPS?! WHAT THE FUCK?! and then of course they cut was geometrical, all down in the lower level.  and then weird looking dogs walked by no wait that was outside later on and at some point i was consuming uncommonly bad pasta and there was flattery and it would be later i would realize that time is significant indeed and of course...never really cared.  understandable.  i am detestable.  no no no, it was a forgone conclusion.  no one's fault but my own.  do you remember a suprise hug.  juxtapose with a beautiful women in a magenta shirt carrying a baby while a ball game goes on in the background and i was given a disapproving glance after letting loose with a stream of profanity. Was that before or after.  At this point…I’m going to say after.  Nice little memory there. That was a formative time I realized it is a terrible idea to cling to the things you loved in high school for the rest of your miserable worthless life.  You have to let go in order to develop taste.  Or do you?  The more I learn the less I want to know.  I recall being excited by the doubly ness of it all.  Atrocious cover art.  You know, there’s some great stuff on there but a lot of it is let down by a VERY flat and lifeless production. 

Still, I bought a rose one morning.  That was nice.  I almost don’t believe nice memories anymore because it’s hard to believe I could actually be associated with something nice since I’m such an ugly piece of shit. 

I need to read more chronicles and more police comics and more Kirby stuff. 

i should mention that All Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely is one of my favorite things ever.  just such a beautiful, gorgeous inspiring DEFINITIVE piece of art.  i like the animated movie from it too!  i would fucking LOVE a live action Superman movie like this one day. the Wonder Woman movie makes me feel good too, maybe like the way coloured kisses does.  i almost never feel good but that's okay.   

Wed like a

paper

I recently learned of a remastered blu ray of ozploitation classic Mad Dog Morgan.  This revelation made me cry tears of joy (because after Mad Dog Morgan all one can do is die).  I hope it works on my blu ray player.  But if it doesn’t…I don’t know, it wouldn’t surprise me I guess nor would it do anything to mitigate my self hatred.  This reminds me of the time I was a city ( a great flood in the maritime city, a tear ran down my cheek while I watched her dance in lingerie) in a music store and found a great copy of The Gold Experience.  I cried tears of joy then (because after The Gold Experience all one can do is die).  Now that the boiling summer is upon us I’ll have to break that album out again and after I buy me a Mercury I’m gonna cruise it (the Mercury) up and down the road while cranking that album and probably an associated single EP, the last of which has my preferred version of the big beautiful hit.  That last little phrase there makes me think of big beautiful women.  In fact very recently – before writing these powerful words – I was watching some Brazilian big beautiful women videos.  Or was I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I recently ate soup. 

I see now…the cards…destiny.  Memories playing tricks on all of us.  I would Eve’s Bayou on my list of great movies.  It’s a tremendous piece of work.  adore it.  Naples.  That is the destination.  Naples is the key to everything.  And all at once I realized…permission to idealize…permission to create a construct…something illusory in my mind’s eye.  Something illusory that I will worship and need and fill all my time with…exterminate all rational thought as a great and wise mine once said (there are bugs crawling over everything, in all the corners of the spaces I occupy, is that an accordion I hear playing?).  yes, this double identity, dual identity.  Double…I’m traveling down that oddly familiar and haunting road. 

I found an old note to myself instructing myself to buy old Flash comics on ebay.  I haven’t gone through with that yet.  I never have the BALLS to really do anything. 

I keep returning to the new rose hotel.  This is going to be a central inspiration.  Information.  It’s all about information.  Being talked to by the French or Italians.  Maybe like to learn Italian someday.  Big fan of Italian food.  Blackout again, so similar, works much better than initially believed.  Watched the movie Bitter Rice recently and absolutely loved it. 

Yamila, I swear. 

Goodfellas of course seen before and of course masterpiece.  It’s about comradery!  Years later certain legs would haunt me!

The Villainess was GREAT action.  Loved it.  Never confused despite it being slightly confusing, need to watch again. 

The Handmaiden is GREAT non action movie.  Really cool hip edgy storyline.  Love this one. 

Legend was fine.  Nice makeup and sets. 

Tag was GREAT odd movie.  Have the dvd and need to break it out again.  Something with ice, right?  Really good as I work through the man’s filmography, hate trilogy, right?  This one felt unique its length yet it had a far scope. 

The Player rocked my face off.  It was really…uh..i dunno, hollywood and stuff.  All the right elements, just highly enjoyed, shouldn’t have waited so long. 

Sicario 2: Day of the Soldado was crap UNLESS I grant it a very postmodern existential interpretation it which case it is possibly and likely accidentally great.  good score though a few strong scenes and a great performance by Isabela Moner

Mandy pairs well with a movie from this year about space.  Love this one.  an after midnight movie. 

True Detective Season 3 (8 episodes).  I dig all 3 seasons.  Not sure how to rank. Messes things up in the end but fascinating throughout

All the President’s Men is dense and wonderful and one of a long line of pretty much perfect 70’s movies. 

Burning – often in my head, one of my favorites. 

Creed 2 – eh.  Wish the Russians were given more. 

Widows – unexpected delight says I!  need to buy!

Rocky 4 – utter crap. 

Manhunter – one of my favorite.  Brett Ratner red dragon is awful. This is grand Mann cinema.

Rocky 3 – strikes the right balance of camp and classic Rocky.  I enjoy all the homoerotic subtext as well.

Rocky 5 – not as bad as 4, I can see where this could have been much better, kernals of stuff

Rocky – rightfully deserves its classic status.

Us – the first (but not last) huge disappointment of last year.  Have watched since and stand by that.  Doesn’t work for me.  lifeless. 

I really like the Tennis album I’m listening to right now.  It’s such lovely and comforting pop.  It reminds me of something but I can’t think of what because I’m too stupid.  Also, this river reminds me of another river.  I’m drinking bourbon right now.  Its pointless and stupid to compare but I’ll do it anyway.  Oh, wait, no I won’t. I do like Lady Gaga’s new album.  Still loving Charli’s new album (faithful readers will recall I gave it the much coveted 10/10 score a few posts ago).  I’ve mostly been listening to THE BOSS lately.  It helps during these sweaty blue collar days.  Reading alan moore comic books at night has also certainly helped. 

Going off what I wrote about yesterday, I forgot to mention that of course what may be played off against is very important.  Crucial!  And the current crimson iteration is not to my liking and feels so…cheap and easy and rote.  That would undermine so much and I think this may be a huge reason why I am bizarrely not entirely behind this. Of course nothing is set in stone at this point so it may not even matter. Only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right berries.  Ah, I have it.  Loving echoes from swimmer.  And one of a kind.  Giants.  So lovely, one of a kind.  Giving me the...

Regret not..when I had the chance.  Maybe some day again. 

I ate ham sandwich for breakfast. 

reaction to today's news

I’m listening to the album Trans by Neil Young right now.  Loving it (on some other I’d be loving the alien, believing the strangest things).  very interesting news this morning.  It sent a shock though my nervous system and sent me pacing around and caused me to explode with expletives. But that’s not because it was negative.  I really don’t know even know how to or what I think about it.  Maybe pecking out this crappy prose will help me sort through it. 

Hard to say because there’s almost no other piece of art that means as much to me.  and so I have to evaluate.  Could this diminish anything.  Maybe it is no coincidence that this very morning after showering I stumbled upon my old dvd copy of Jaws 2.  I love this dvd.  In part because they put a little sailboat design in the letter A in Jaws which is just nifty if you know what happens in that movie.  I also love this dvd because it includes a swell documentary about the making of Jaws 2.  I mean, they didn’t skimp and put out a cheap product.  The picture was great (for its time) on this one.  I have fond memories of watching Jaws 2.  Yet, it goes without saying that Jaws is a masterpiece.  One of my favorite movies of all time.  iconic. Definitive.  And it may have my favorite climax ever.  And of course jaws 2 cannot compare in any way (despite having Roy back).  Its just a slasher type movie with a shark.  But I’ve never felt that it or Jaws 3(d) or Jaws the Revenge do anything to diminish the greatness of Jaws.  Did I make a point?  Was that a point?  I really hate myself.  Now I feel more comfortable.  I need to lay down with a big cardboard box.  Anyway I think it was sort of a point.  Doctor sleep has not diminished The Shining (or has it? The more I learn the less I want to know).

And then I thought of peaks.  How every iteration of peaks was entirely different.  There was a melodramata heavy in the first iteration.  As a wise man pointed out it was the necessary counterbalancing spice to the darkness and bacon frying and by that I mean curtains laden surrealism.  Yeah, and then the second one – porbably my favorite – goes deep into a suburban horror tale.  Ah, the mirror, the diary.  I always thought….  That still haunts me.  glad I had the book nearby, the one with the red cover.  Filled it gaps.  And then the third iteration, perhaps the most endless fascinating.  Stays with me much like that doomed ballet school.  That was truly a glorious age just a couple years ago.  Side is hurting now.  Sometime is wrong.  Can’t keep my head above water.  Sample and hold.  And soon I need to complete this trilogy.  I’m talking about something differnet now.  I need some good witchcraft in my life.  I suppose in some ways I’m reminded of some human league albums. 

Ah, I poured myself another drink and now I see the issue.  I don’t think you can take something so idiosyncratic and force it to fit into something so outside itself.  It would be the same for something fitting a more Christian mold.  Switched over now to cow fingers.  I’m drinking alligator wine.  This just feels so right right off the bat.  It makes me want to jerk my body around.  You know I so love tom waits.  And now I can the line, the direct line there.  or something.  Damn but this really works.  That brass.  Love me some beefheart too, tropical hot dog night.  I also love the old rhcp song subway to venus.  But I digress.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  But yes, I think I hit it.  He once said it was like doing an impression of himself (or something like that) which is impossible but also really weird.  This would even be farther out than that.  This would not be the same thing.  It simply couldn’t be.  It would be the same icon in the guise of the same icon but a different iteration.  Maybe even very similar but it could never be the same thing.  It was far too idiosyncratic.  Could there be a singer returning?  Understand?  Singer.  Right after beyond the sea, so many connections.  Playing the same but it wouldn’t be the same because nothing like this would ever have happened.  And would that cheapen anything?  Yes, this is my very real fear.  But I go back to wrote up above.  I don’t think it would in the long run.  But the fear is still there.  of course I’d be cataclysmically excited.  In the very first second, first there, first everything.  So insane how things have changed. 

And then just the logistics.  I need to get some Steranko.  Really live those cubes, famous.  Would that type of position work?  I don’t think so.  I don’t think it’s tenable.  IT Chapter 2 was hilarious.  I don’t have the right kind of faith in that regard.  And if there must be this overlap I really would rather another be encased in crimson.  I really do not want a clever playful juxtaposition.  That would certainly be egregiously cheap. 

At some point things must simply be laid to rest.  I don’t want anything tainted.  It will never be forgotten.  can this change anything?  I have no idea.  It may all just be talk. And you know the funny thing?  Despite all my misgivings I will surely be disappointed if it doesn’t happen.  I never make any fucking sense. 

Finally, a doff of the cap to Joel.  I never knew you.  But you’ll always be part of the legacy (as well as the force behind many other interesting works).  You brought me much joy years and years ago.  I can still sometimes feel that now.  Thanks.   I think I’ll put on Forever right now. 

1013

Oh, Regina of the Three Letters.  Such secrets!  Pastels and pinups!  Ahh.  These are all clues see and suddenly I’m reminded of a surreptitious bucket of water.  Synthetics acting as a second skin, not much has changed in a decade and a half.  Ring the doorbell three consecutive times, pancakes afterward.  Then never heard from again.  Shame it took me so long to realize, my fault of course. 

The ancestry of the freemasons and this odd feeling in my chest.  Alien abductions.  Sleeping pills the other night.  Need to invest in the days of the mob, I hope there was no tampering involved.  Priestess confessor.  Listening to Tamia over dinner and wine.  I just wanna drink absinthe, read Barry Gifford novels, eat Trix cereal (with soy milk, cause cows are for calves) and listen to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.  I’m the ugliest of clichés, treasure me!  Oh, I need to get that weird little rockabilly Neil Young record and crank it on a drunken and sweaty Saturday night.  I love the color pink. 

I’m reading from a book of alchemy. No, that’s not right, I was watching someone read from a book of alchemy.  Ah, ancient symbols and hidden meanings, power and magic.  In the dual identities you yourself become a symbol.  Sweets and alchemy.  Omg which denier is perfect for summer, glamour, they are killing me.  I love M. Emmett Walsh’s performance in Blood Simple.  Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Of course, I can see the trajectory of that film on to the beautifully lensed Psycho III.  Certain symbols may subtly affect men’s minds.  The need of dual identities, which one is more real?  More vital?  I can’t abide by those positive platitudes.  Confused with the long river of existence.  Consumed.  Those first 60 pages like better.  Found an old card.  Can’t revisit now.  Why wasn’t I able to finish before?  I’m a big fan of the works of Clive Barker. 

What really happened to Maria Orsic?  There are certain roads one should not venture down.  We can only learn so much and live.  Maybe I can dance the tango one day.  I have an addiction to titanium.  I have an addiction to carbon fiber.  His entrails were still steaming when they were slung over his shoulder.  Will no one help the widow’s son?  I feel myself grow steadily more nauseous as I’m given this grim tour.  Please don’t make me connect the points of all the places we’ve visited.  I don’t want to see the awful shape it makes.  I love the Prince album 1999.  It got me through some iffy times.  Please pray for me.  need to see all of Sofia’s work.  Rachel weeping for her children.  I must become something antithetical to myself to get through this day.  further fracturing of identity, extinguishing myself, developing an antipersonality, slipping into a new skin.  Heathen on the way to work.  3 texts going down the stairs.  Don’t stay in a sad place…always making me cry. 

Fulcanelli, those texts.  Don’t forget the most important book.  books have powerful.  So many frightening texts.  Strange numbness from my collarbone, up through my neck and to my jaw.  I love how Maria Conchita Alonso looks in her introductory scene in the otherwise terrible film The Running Man.  RIP Denny.  Everything still holds up.  Great work.  The song Bad Fish really takes me back.  I like that song.  I’m listening to it now but in a bad context.  Now it’s so many years ago and so much hasn’t happened yet.  What is the fourth dimension?  I love hosiery.  Braids.  Identity further stripped away.  And suddenly I have a strong urge to draw her dressed in purple and surrounded by architecture.  I wonder what symbols and lifeforce are secretly encased in the architecture around me?    

The saddest, most pathetic thing of all is that we try to desperately to make that connection.  That we can only feel truly complete when we have validation from another fucked up person.  how sad.  How utterly pathetic.  Wow, what awful things we are. bitching and moaning and crying and begin inadequate and needing another inadequate thing to make us feel better.  Let us teach our children that they are not enough and that they must find someone equally needy and worthless and then suddenly poof they are a great and worthy person.  what a disgusting thing we are.  a stain upon this planet. 

I’m sitting in my car reading a book with an orange cover.  Or am I ?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  It’s mostly orange.  The back cover is fully orange.  Breakfast staple.  Not what you think.  Not orange.  I really do enjoy jazz.  8 hours opioids but that’s not the key.  Still the best.  Strip away the flashy exteriors and we’re just fearful simpering things.  gosh we’re even afraid of being alone.  If we don’t have someone who will pity fuck us and listen to our incessant bitching we just crumble to pieces.  Of course it is highly amusing that we are not actually worthy of any sort of physical or emotional support.  But we can’t help but crave.  What is the fourth dimension?  I was reading some comic books earlier.  At some point today I was thinking about Venusians.  Shit, didn’t even realize…monsters….  One of my favorites.  I’m a melting clown suit.  I love the darkness that permeates the one hot minute album, the depressions, the sketchy nature of it all.  That comment is for you! 

I am constructing something essential.  I need this.  And I think it goes to that O series from back that I wrote.  And a costume ball maybe.  Or maybe more metaphysical.  Really excited by that clip from the Snyder cut of Justice League.  Love Trevor Jones’ From Hell score.  Yes, what I’m constructing…I’ve never felt safe anywhere.  Who is there?  this is all illusory.  I don’t feel good anywhere 

I’m probably listening to Chris Gaines right now.  Few artists have been as inspirational and influential to me as Gaines.