Sunday, October 19, 2014
I write three pages everyday...when I wake up..incoherently..stream of conscious...throwing up...weeping...confessing...afraid...ecstatic...bored. bored. bored. a lot of boredom. so bored. so very bored. so very fucking bored. this life bores me. utterly, magnificiently and fantastically BORES ME. so... I write on paper...with ink. It is what keeps me sane. I do not particularly possess any kind of writing discipline, but I need to keep going on just to survive all the voices inside my head.' I must also keep this journal going. Because. Because... But...boring. it's all so very boring. Dear Universe, amuse me. Really...please.
I was recently introduced to this uniquely American genre..I was utterly captivated by the opening theme song of True Detective. It kept me awake and in my head, I played different versions of the story. It's dark and sad at the same time. I have known dark and funny...never darkly melancholic. But come to think of it, we have always had blockbuster murder ballads...from Johnny Cash to the ThreePenny Opera...to Tom Waits(Oh! Tom!)
I think I am in love. Again. *heart* Peter Capaldi love. love. love. LOVE! Doctor...Oh.My.Doctor! you are now officially my new favourite.
From elsewhere where I quipped: [...]Last night. Last night, I returned home at 11.30 after a city delivery. As someone mentioned elsewhere...Travis Ishikawa will never have to buy a drink again in this city. Ever. And yes, NYT..we win by using black magic in this town. We are whackadoodle and drag queens sing at our stadiums(NOT!... but hey! You are NYT. Don't let facts get in the way!) but yea..Last Night!
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
This space...this space needs to hold more. A couple of days ago, I watched Alexander, the movie, again...hmmm..Alexander, the *GREAT*. Why Great? Was he great because he ruled over three of the most literate civilisations of that time. Pen, Sword, Might and all that. The power of media will transcend the ages. That and Ho-Hos. One thing that struck me was how he was acting like his father. I have always maintained that we will all eventually become our parents. The more we loathed them in our youth, the more the chances of us mirroring their souls. We become our parents because we want to forgive them. Inside some dark sticky corner of all our hearts is a sad eyed child who wants to be loved by the frames that carry the loins they sprung from...Surely, we must have been loved or we wouldnt exist. Our existence needs to come from a bright and love filled place. But often, most souls are birthed from rape or drunken lust. And the etchings never fade. Those marks never really go away. You will see them in the slovenly, the broken ones, the haggard, in the swagger, as the hunched ones...the hungry and the insatiable ones. Everyone has a story. and so it goes..