bobdylan5

Punk'd At Christmas--A television play
Final Act

Scrooge rises from his bed--he goes to the window, throws it open. Below, in the street, a YOUNG BOY is passing by...

Scrooge--Excuse me...young man, can you tell me what day it is?

Young Boy--Wha'...today, sir? Why, Christmas Day, sir?

(Scrooge begins to hop estatically around his bedroom)

Scrooge--Christmas Day...I haven't missed it! The spirits did it all...
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I saw a couple of movies this weekend that I thought were worth commenting on:

Incubus--This "horror" film has the distinction of being the only movie ever made with an Esperanto dialogue track. It stars a pre-Star Trek William Shatner and some other people. I was really geared to see this movie because it just sounded so absolutely out there. I wish I could tell...
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Thinking 'Bout Jessica At One In The Morning
Current mood: lonely

I wonder what really happened to her...The last I heard (through certain mutual acquaintances) was that she had married the tall anal-retentive historian/blacksmith and was happily gone with his first child. For about six months after she disappeared from my life entirely, everytime I heard the name Jessica, I felt a mixture of pain...
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Coffee
Current mood: awake

The three major coffee producing areas of the world--Indonesia, Africa, and South America, are on speed dial on my phone.
I wake up as Mr. Hyde and my morning joe turns me into...a slightly more manegable version of Mr. Hyde.
McDonald's cofee has a strange, acidic taste to it--I imagine it is how Victory coffee must taste in George Orwell's 1984....
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Here is a poem by Charles Bukowski that I really like:

Dostoevsky

against the wall, the firing squad ready.
then he got a reprieve.
suppose they had shot Dostoevsky?
I suppose it wouldn't have
mattered
not directly.
there are billions of people who have
never read him and never
will.
but as a young man I know that he
got me through the factories,
past...
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I remember exactly where I was when John Lennon was shot...I was in the bedroom of my cheap off-campus apartment (Bowling Green State University) working out a song on my acoustic guitar. The song was called Xanadu (bad title, I should have changed the title--damn it's still called Xanadu) I was trying to write like Neil Young ala "Sugar Mountain." The first verse went "All...
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I was watching this thing on Trio about the evolution of country music. It seems that during the 60s, bluegrass players found a new niche playing for the counter-culture, hippies and what not. They even showed a group (don't know who it was) playing at some festival with wild psychedelic effects behind them. Hilarious. I think this would be a great story idea--a whole bunch...
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Image from 1980

We are both on my sister's bed, strong moonlight coming through the window looking to drown a werewolf. She has been sucking my cock for about half an hour now to no avail--I just can't seem to get hard. But she soldiers on, sucking at the root of my drunken chaos while I idly reach down to caress one of her breasts....
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I have decided no more narrative:


The Incredible Forensic Foreplay Machine
Current mood: hot

The incredible forensic foreplay machine strode across the blasted landscape of stripmall heaven, its mandibles shaking, its compound eyes undressing the sleek chassis of hydroelectric women...it was delightful devolution on four peglegs as the snow came down like manna and stuck in its soul...despair that it would never meet its kind...
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So, here I sit, at the computer--updating my journal...perusing the boards...looking at my fuzzy stupid face in my profile pic...I should be working on something, but what does it matter? The only thing I have ever had published is two poems in my college literary magazine in twenty years of writing.
Sitting in Starbucks today, working on the book--I seem to be going through the...
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