Saturday, June 11, 2005

Howdy there. Ok. I’m back. From the movies. I watched Sahara. At the dollar movies. It was pretty good, but that doesn’t matter right now. What is at issue is the fact that every time I watch a movie or read a book with a discernible plot I feel this anxiety that that is something that I cannot do, when, but, if I think about it for a little while it is, something I can do that is, and with my head clearing more daily, yet gaining mildly increasing degrees of fog in other arenas, it’s still becoming something more in the hemisphere of obtainable skills. Also, however, inversely logically, (a specialty of the house) the inability to perfectly plot has given impetus to some of the (supposed) best stuff I’ve written and been the main focus, or lack thereof, of the project of which I considered my magnus opus (at this juncture). But then I look back on something that I used to consider big time but later abandoned, and I give it a clear (current) look, and see it for what it could possibly be if I got off my lazy ass and really hammered out the plot and included more detail and maybe some research into what it really means to actually physically torture someone, I mean, if I’m gonna do it I gotta do it right, I don’t wanna be on some half ass bruckheimer meets tarantino shit, I wanna get down to the brass tacks, literally, and come up with shit that ain’t nobody heard of since the marquis de sade was digging in the crates of his deep inner consciousness and developing the really arcane style shit of which to cause increasingly rapid and nigh impossible to deal with types of pain.

Anyway, that notwithstanding, I’ve really gotta keep beating on this not dead horse that is the master thesis, so pardon me while I clear my throat and have a sip of whisky and take you for just a little ride. When last we were where we were, Don was contemplating the lack of real communication between strangers, but in actuality, he’s the type of person that deals with this factor better than the common man or woman, at least in my eye, and much better than the other two main characters, at least one of them. Possibly the main main character is more in tune with this facet of humanity, but one of Don’s main qualities is supposedly his ability to see the dark side of ourselves, and run with it, and not be particularly concerned, but what I think I might have been attempting to clarify was a weak moment for Don, or, conversely, a strong moment, in any event, something not normally within his character, at least in the norm, but not something out of his range. And this leads to the idea of people going out of what they would normally do, and this brings in the idea that formulaically, this would be a time for something odd or not common to happen in the storyline, reflecting his change in attitude, however subtle, from his base identity of going with most flows and not caring about what other people are doing, how they view him, ie: being comfortable with how base and debaucherous and non-intimate the world really is when you break it down, and take a serious look at it and discover under the depths that despite all of our desires to be one with the universe or find our inner souls or whatever the fuck you want to call it, for the most part we just want to go through our motions, get home in one piece, and pass out in front of the television.

oh yah I blabbed some inane gibberish at simpleton.

update: I don't know if it's coincidence or what (almost definitely) but the aforementioned simpleton iterates a lot of the ideas that Don is having float through is head in this oration, but from a decidedly different yet similar perspective. spooky. I called the "that's incredible" people to investigate, but apparently it's not the 70's anymore. oh well.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Ben was outta town, Eddie was getting laid, unbelievable as it sounded, so what the fuck was Don supposed to do? Sure, he was in Vegas, there was really no reason for him to be whining, but he felt like he wanted companionship, and not the kind that rubs up on your dick and makes juice shoot out of it. He wanted to talk, listen, converse, have a real human interaction, devoid of all falsities and concurrences of which he might be worried about what he said. And then he realized that a stranger would be perfect for said project. And if you’re hunting down a stranger, why not make it a hot chick, so then, when you’re done talking and thinking about the true and valid meanings of life, and the layer underneath the surface, well, then you can fuck her. It really was the perfect solution.

He was at the flamingo, biding his time at the quarter slots, dropping money down the chute. There were, obviously, plenty of beautiful women walking around here, there, all over, plenty of ugly ones too, old, young, haggard, perfect, all points in between. The trick was having an excuse to talk to them that didn’t sound like a line. And he was fairly good at that. Not some bullshit out of a movie like some bizarre trick or some such shit, just walk up & say hello, and if it wasn’t working you could feel it right off, and you just move on, but did he really feel like going through the bullshit right now?

If he was going to go with his original idea, of just having a conversation, the best call was to go to one of the bars and pay for a drink. Actually he could play the machine, but, well, no, he wanted to talk, fucking cheap bastard, buy a drink or two, talk to someone. But it had to be random. The whole idea of picking a situation didn’t really appeal to him right then.

He was a little tipsy, about three scotch and waters in. he didn’t really know why he was drinking scotch tonite, maybe the loneliness, a new drink for a new mindset. Don was not good at being by himself. Not that he needed a girlfriend, it wasn’t that, it was more in the moment, he just liked having people around. But those lonely times were nice too, it was the loneliness in a crowd that drove him crazy. Feeling like there’s no one when there are, in actuality, people all around, which was his current situation.

And the secret was just to break through the usually surprisingly thin membrane that separated all human beings until that first moment of contact. After that it was just a matter of breaking it down enough that real communication could be achieved. It was a potentially foreign concept, that people walked by each other all the time and didn’t look at each other twice, we were all people right? Don often wondered, how can all these people just see each other and not see each other? What is our problem? But in light of society, sadly, it made perfect sense. We all just wanted to be strangers, didn’t we? It was imperative that alienation be the keyword in society, that we push the people that may, for all we know, give us the most satisfaction, as far away as possible, to make way for the inadvertent cast & crew that had come into our lives completely out of happenstance.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Have you seen that police America movie with the puppets, from the south park guys? The funniest bit, for me, is this song that compares how much the main character misses this chick to how much the pearl harbor movie sucked. It’s a true joy when you can watch or hear something, or combo thereof, and still be laughing out of your control like 45 seconds after it’s over, just contemplating it.

There’s some slow bits tho, that drag a little, unnecessary commas notwithstanding, and, sigh, I dunno, I’m over talking about it.

Goddammit, I feel like I can’t write shit without sayin shit, and sayin shit is SO goddamm 1982 that I feel like a have a giant lion with sunglasses jumping off of the front of my shirt, it’s THAT 1982, can you feel it? It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it is strong. Pungent. Something floating in the air beyond the senses yet one with them at the same time. Indefinable, like all the best things. You can’t quite put your finger nor your toe on it, but you know it’s there, right on the periphery. It is the jurk storr. And I want you to know all about it, but if I tried to explain it to you I’d likely destroy it and I just can’t be held responsible for the ramifications if that were to happen.

Actually it’s nothing to do with being held responsible, it’s just that I really love the jurk storr. It’s a well that is completely deep, let’s say you took atlantis and then multiplied it’s depth by 83 astromedallions, that would only begin to explain it. With me? It’s a font of knowledge and antithetical wisdom that even though at times more than others it has no form nor sense it still is, and no one can deny that what it says and does and represents is definitely a serious entity in spite of its nothingness.

Ok, I’m done, I may have already said too much.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Dark woke up around 8:30 am with a ferocious hangover. Muttering to himself that he was never going to drink again, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the shower. His body was crying out for hot water, but he knew that would only worsen his condition. Gritting his teeth like a cage for the pounding in his head, he turned the knob with the blue "c" and felt the cold chill of the pipe’s contents.

The cold shower invigorated him and snapped him a little out of his funk, but he was soon back in bed, wishing he could just sleep, if only for a little while. It was strange, a master of pain brought low by a bottle of booze. Happens to the best of us, Rion pondered.

He was able to sleep in fits and bursts, but eventually he realized it was no use and decided it was time to face the day, jackhammer in his cranium or not. When was he going to learn that tequila was not his friend? Not only did it make him crazy, it made the next day a living hell. Especially in his current situation, he would have to exhibit a little more restraint.

He’d almost killed those kids that were making out on the beach. Dark wasn’t really sure what had stopped him. Surely not his conscience, which had been deposited in the compost heap of his existence long ago. No. He was like a cat now, wary even while relaxed and medicated. His survival instincts had stopped what in the past would have become a very ugly scene with a not so pleasant cover-up. Dark had dug more than his shares of hasty graves after a night of the agave plant’s secret pleasures.

Thankfully, he’d done the wise thing and dragged himself back to his room for a power meeting with a pillow that was his only friend on this godforsaken island. At least until he was able to contact his associate’s local field agent, if that was an apropos description. Joe hadn’t really been specific, but that was par for the course with him. Dealing with Johnson in the past, Dark had never known all the factors, but the scenario had always played itself out in a favorable fashion. In short, Joe didn’t recommend or deal with anyone that didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.

Dark had to take his compatriot in the shady side’s word however on not trusting whoever it was that was going to answer that phone call he’d be making this afternoon. Provide him/her with certain information necessary to assist him? Yes. Let’s just say information would be provided on an as-needed basis, thank you very much.

His stomach was grumbling, hungry yet reticent. Dark decided to risk it, and headed downstairs to the buffet, which according to the brochure sitting next to the ash tray and bible, was currently in full swing in the courtyard. Dark contemplated a round of golf later in the day, but had the feeling naptime would beat out that idea.

Breakfast was good, and Dark was back in bed and drifting to sleep by 11 am, the pain in his head having subsided to a dull roar after a hearty meal and some aspirin. Some cannabis would hit the spot right now, he mused as his mind floated away. Finding something like that, however, would draw unneeded attention. Besides, pain was good, it cleared the cobwebs for the trials ahead.

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