The past few days have been consumed by something Stephen calls Culture Lung(ing). I assume he means a metaphorical respiration and consumption of all forms of culture; literature, music, film and the greatest of them all, television. In the glorious lens of hindsight, I could have used the unprecedented loneliness, silence and weather to get some work done, mainly writing. It would be oxymoronic to say professionally unemployed, but something akin to fanciful imaginings of being a writer, which in my case would be scribbling nonsensical and somewhat offensive things (which you can read below) on a piece of napkin before I stagger into sleep. I just can't do it lately. I finally have an idea for a vehicle to put my characters into, and some kind of action to careen them flaming over a cliff.
Songs are memories of people we never met or people we no longer recognize.
I'm in the same sinking boat, it's good we both know how to swim. God I hope there is a porno called the FountainHead, although some people think Ayn Rand couldn't be any sexier. Is there is a support group for objectivists? The quest for justice leaves a pile of bodies. Is that democracy, or television. Psh, justice is never televised. Surprise attack always. It is as though kitsch made itself a mayo sandwich before pulling down its pants& blowing out its brains. Quality like that, on white bread. "Motherfucker cannot dress like he's Mardi Gras" my sister talking about a guy wearing a top hat and tails selling newspapers on the street corner. I'm digging you like a fresh grave. You are an honors credit to your race.
Here's some new music. Enjoy
http://www.mediafire.com/?yzhy3zdj5mq
http://www.mediafire.com/?in2vnmtzym0
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