28/30: Anthropomorphy Now!

A pitch for a film about the  emotional lives of dead skin flakes.

Their tremendous journey from scalp to pillowcase with the vocal

talents  of Emma Stone and Aziz Ansari.

(or possibly Katherine Heigl, if she’s free and it’s comeback time)

A working outline for a novel about a melancholy espresso machine

waiting for a love that never comes, but never the less learning

to take satisfaction in the steam.

(a story for our times!)

A storyboard for a graphic novel about the half lives of

T-shirts, many pen and pencil close ups of weeping threads.

“Why doesn’t he wear me any more?”
(“Same” posts the heartbroken college girl)

A premise for a short story about the sexual predilictions

of floorboards. The whole thing is "wood" puns.

(Hint: it totally gets published, your dumb

thing doesn't)

A draft of a poem about door knobs. What hands have held them?

How have they turned? What fluids have dribbled down their

supple curves? What slight wrist turns? What pushes on their

shiny

nubile

frame?

Oh, knobby, knobby, knobby.
(This is the entire poem, actually)

9/30! Going Cronenberg! Going Scott!

Give me an Existenz afterlife, so I can plug, unplug eternally.

That squirming, spirting tentacle, all ooze and grit and
eventually just wanting to be put down. Of course we want
masks here, of course.

I saw a TV show where people got their make up done,
piercings shrined and implants to look like cats, or dragons,
or the devil. They called it extreme, I call it trying too hard when

all anyone needs to do for assassination
is program a GPS in question into oncoming traffic
like that episode of The Office

we all laughed at for being
unrealistic.

Give me a car crash orgasm, so I can sync with explosions.

Somewhere between the caveman and the
robot porn, there is
a caveman jerking off to robot porn.

I'm no expert on these things,
vast expanse of flesh,
and plugs, and re-routes.

Laying on my collapsed futon
late night, falling asleep to sirens,
waking up to jackhammers,
reading a friends panicked e-mail about
more
bill boards
more drones

I'm too entrenched in Blade Runner's LA; it was a lot of things,
but never boring.

A Weird Thing to Do to Your Brain:

Is fall asleep at 4am, wake up at 8:30am, head for breakfast with girlfriend and out-of-town visitor, load up on coffee and mimosas, come back to your place and fall asleep while this movie plays:

I'm not sure what was part of the movie and what parts my brain added, but truth is probably stranger than fiction.

Semi-live blogging old news. Undead blogging old news? Politics.

So I'm just now getting around to watching Clint Eastwood's speech at the Republican National Convention.

Honestly, so far, it's kinda bizarre, but it's also kinda charming. The Afghanistan joke may have been off-base factually (in terms of who started what) but the joke about Russia was pretty right on. Oh wait, now it's kinda getting weird. But it's still funny. I think people-- especially on the left-- underestimate (misunderestimate?) -- the capacity for humor, especially from an old movie star; after actually watching it, I'm sorta bummed on the media's response-- is that really as weird as things can get?

I was less reminded of a callow hollywood millionaire who shamelessly supports a ayn-randian agenda (as it was being painted on my facebook feed for the last week) than a friend of the family who would bend over backwards to help you, hand good words for everyone, but voted for a different ticket than you.

That said, this is also really funny.