whiskeyfightpit

Why am I remembering "The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty"? Danny Kaye right? Maybe my whole existence is buoyed around unrealistic visions of myself. Some Sexual. Some professional. Some artistic. Some vengeful. Probably take out all of the Nutrasweet in the Danny Kaye film and add the paranoia and finality of Gilliam's BRAZIL. Whatever keeps you from running a bath of hot water and putting more scratch in the people at Gillette's pockets, right? Sweeten the blow with daydream. I always thought I was going to grow up and be a member in an important rock group. Some kind of figure like David Bowie, William Burroughs, Clint Eastwood, and Johnny Depp all rolled up and peppered with amphetamines. Some kinda fellow parents don't like but has all of the right answers to every young man's questions. Everything was always going to happen TOMORROW. Don't worry about anything. It will all unfold magically. None of that shit ever pans out. We're all just here. When you're fifteen and all brains in a dim-bulb dungeon you get that ego chubby. Man, is it swell! Wait till they get a load of Raymond & Debbie Hill's boy. He sure is something special! Look out world! Yeah, it all must go with the seasons. It's just a grind...maybe you'll get enough to get by. I can also recollect about how much of social cat I was back then, too. Saying "Hello" to everyone...popular or otherwise. I know most cats on the Suicide Girls trip probably weren't social butterflies in school...so you may not understand. It feels wonderful to be a part of something and truly wanted. But once the term is up, all of that community shit vaporizes. Like taking down an invisible fence for the frothing mutts. POOF! You've been dropped in the middle of Cambodia with your parachute and a little slip of paper that says you can now stand in line for handouts. It was the last time I felt like a human being. Once you dip your toes into the real American life, the vision perks up. My day dreams were like propaganda pamphlets back then. Most of my day dreams are like scenes outta "Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind". Bearded, Drunk in a cheap motel in the middle of a trash heap. Where's Satan? Can he give me back my teenage diplomatic days? Who do you turn to? Where did the community go? Can suicidal recluses find love? What god did I offend? Where were the signs? Does my happiness have to come at the expense of someone else's? Cand you go out and make it without knocking someone else down? Why is it like that? Why isn't it like the classes, textbooks, and preachers say it is? Who would let such an ugly and vicous circus continue to set up shop? Why do I get kicked around and used every time I say whats on my mind?

Everything can be related to old horror movies. I'm like Peter Cushing's OLD MAN characted in the 70s film version of Tales From The Crypt. Used to be a kind hearted humanitarian chap till I was murdered. Then I rose from the grave to claim my revenge. Yeah, I'm completely sideways but at least I speak my mind. It'll count for something when my number is pulled. it has to.

SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY
Big Black "Dead Billy"
MX-80 "Crushed Ice"
Idris Muhammed "Loran's Dance"
Spoon "Girls Can Tell"
Tom Waits "Alice"