Every day takes finding out how to live again

Hello. I tell you what, I've watched a fuckload of movies recently. I'm kind of holed up in my tiny flat like a shivering young pullet sensing a fox for the first time. Anyway I recommend 'Wassup Rockers' by Larry Clark, an Argentinian documentary 'The Dignity of the Nobodies', and 'The Darjeeling Limited'. All very worthy of fucking merit.


Wanky word of the moment is 'vicissitude'. Noone ever says it, it is snaky and a waste of time.


Here's another thing I'll tell you what about; the movies and their misrepresentations. Maybe just the physical as a starter. The real sound of a fist smashing into a face perhaps - a muted smack with a tint of crack and a light treble of squelch. Our modern culture has evolved a theatre that is more lewd and slap-happy than any Elizabethan bawdy house ever was.
It is fucking fun to see a representation of the physical in the movies that you yourself have experienced. Getting knocked the fuck out would be one in my case. Apparently if you're in a movie you get a good smack to the noggin and you are fucking down pal. Instant oblivion whether it be a pistol-whip or a good old headlong run into a massive piece of timber. My first time was the latter. The second was the same but into a wall. The third was skating alone, misjudged my weight on the board and catapulted backward with the back of my head leading the way.
On all three occasions there's been several moments (or eternities if you're in it) where I've been 'aware' before blackout. The first time (I was running full fucking pelt) I fell to the ground and got up, said "Jesus Christ help me", and then fell. The second I was in and out talking gibberish the whole time. The third was scary. Winter on my own in a deserted car park. As soon as my head hit that concrete I knew. Keeping the head still my body squirmed and scratched a bit before I passed out. Fuck knows how long I was out. The reason why people find 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' disturbing is it's realism.
Anyway my point is this, as anyone has taken a knock will tell you - it's the ringing sound in your head, all those brain cells dying. It's fucking awful. I have to turn down the volume for a large part of the beginning of 'Children of Men' because it replicates the sound in the antagonists' ears after a bomb blast. A character in it talks about it. They did the same thing in another movie I watched yesterday and it fucking freaked me out. My remote's fucked so I had to leap at the TV to turn it down. No mean feat when moments before I was recumbent with half-smoked spliff and regarding with wonderment the immense and inhospitable distance between my location on the couch and the on-the-horizon dining table, upon which a bottle of red stood waiting for me to attack. How the fuck was I going to get this gargantuan body of mine over there to imbibe of it's ruby-warm splendidness?


Don't fear dear reader; massive with wisdom and supine as I was, I eventually made it, and taught that bottle a lesson. 'Taught' doesn't look right. Is that shit even a word?


Tie down the chickens you motherfuckers; the Japanese are building a computer with all sorts of petraflops and teraflops and shit. A quadrillion calculations per second. When I start to think about that stuff I wish I was a nobleman condemned to death in the Revolution. On the day of my execution the guillotine is fucked so the axeman with his bad tendon in the shoulder has to get it done. He raises the huge axe to have it fall weakly on my neck. Two, three times. I am eventually finished off by a strong member of the baying crowd and the executioner is subsequently stoned to death for his gross incompetence.


I may have over-stated things there but it's Springtime and noone gives a fuck! How's the sap rising you bunch of little bitches? Laters.