New film – ENTITLED “I just took 7 more hits”

ALTERNATIVE TITLES TO aka-

“I needed more”

“I tasted something here…MORE”

“And I want to go back for a couple more trips”

If this is my Achilles speech

I better make it worthwhile

I knew from the start I wasn’t made for this run.

This game was too much.

I was neuromantic

From the start and after the procession it got steady, steadier, Until I barely knew myself and all of a sudden the mistress of all stories all light all of even Tarantino and Kevin Smith bless our lord Hey, Zeus! And Carlin (aka George)

I postulate that in the next 50 minutes things are going to get religious and I have to say

I am never so excited as before a trip.hit.

I trick myself into hearing a phone call from head office

It tells me about some conspiracy and if I’m too vague you won’t know so they won’t have to kill you roams through my ears until a final, Fincher style end plays out with a se7en drill that only friends can handle and the public Needs Now More than EVER,

Like everything else in this desert

You can buy now or later you can pay

Its shame you see

Like the kind Johnny Cash never had to feel

But did anyway

For our sins

And our other precious metals

You wanted heroics for glory and cause all I had was

Weezer’s “in the garage”

and some comic books

“it was never give the epileptic with Tourette’s

the guns in a bank robbery- a tale of two sisters”

I’m afraid to go to sleep what if I dream about shitting and wake up in Trainspotting?

I am not afraid to die

by now that just seems lame

cliché

too B Movie

to be

even cheesy goodness

I wanna cower like grade nine behind one hundred things

but on film i hide nothing

I trip the light fantastic Seven ways through any given sunday

and we’re no angels

de Niro either

hell that preacher blind in They Live

likely cleaner soul than any of those

high billers

my poem like my film is a script for an illicit drug known now as freedom

its been written to adagio and the shitty band snap that had that one good track

(the power- see“ im the lyrical Jesse James”)

I’m so common an uncommon ill either end up Raising Cain

Or making rain in the power of my own “one”  (aka The Power of One)

(this whole film is me and friends from all over the world reading lines from this script

Stressing the social media but also the real life

That exists outside social media

Especially folks like Meaghan and Charlie

Or Dar Dar or Slater

Off the media folks

Inspirations really

Randall fucking B

My film is the first to reject facebook by replicating its process of newsfeeds et al in film format then breaking out at the end, film ends with final status- before my film AKA – takes over my facebook personal page and i become only the aka page

sort of like being reborn

digitally

i tweet a bit

and i email and mail snail again

and then i edit film

over and over

(Common People by band Pulp reminds me of Shakespeare and the way he portrayed the laborers in Midsummer Night’s Dream- casting their play within- their Brechtian nightmare dream)

I want to run through the set of Blade Runner and Gremlins I wanna childhood street with a dr fantasy who doesn’t lie like a beautiful loser just beautiful

I wasn’t back all my early Maxx comics

But that’s besides and

Exactly

My point

Everything comes down to righteous brothers touch for a minute

You can never shut off a song

That’s programmed your moments

Like a remembered never

Left from

Bed of juke box kisses

All lined up in mediocre to amazing order

In some teeny bops head

Who never knew the band Radiohead

Just liked to be a creep

That was a shit line edit it or make it meta filmic t least

Some Christian clatter in pump up the volume is needed Here

Or at least a reenactment after this song I have to listen to that other one me and om and hector listened to in the Fiero and the Audi

I could’ve ended up like ted bundy

Only for him

That Chilean angel and later

My best friend the argentine

And in between my firs childhood mainlander friends ShakIr a Muslim and Miles- the black boy in the basement of the apartment who sand stand by me like a genius and prolly grew up hard and alone whil I was whisked away to suburban cotton wooly infant tears of satellite

Whiter Shade Of Pale

that’s it .

a fuck it Freebird came on instead i know I am supposed to diss ‘em cause Modest Mouse did live on a bootleg but

i still love the two songs

from dazed and confused officla soundtrack –

I fingered Alisha K. all morning to that soundtrack but by pieces de resistances were the Lynard’s  Tuesdays Gone and Freebird so much to flick to, well i guess we should mention cherry bomb too i mean it’s on there and ppl will talk if you don’t

fuck em

the sun came up on fountain street and burst through my widow that morning and i was a new young fucking man

my Malcolm x auto bio on the floor

my demands spray painted then covered up when the first attempt of many failed- could cut deep enough to wipe this out

and all the hole s in my wall and all the head in my heart

and all the street in my walk and all the girls in my life and all the hurt all the stinky rotten hurt that festers has been long since ranted about to random encounters and tolerant friends and even fucking enemies yes enemies  I am my greatest foe with what they think is their greatest bow but my arrow proves maleficent and scores one for the home team – whether it be Atlantic region or the middle east of Ontario (no racism intended i cried –

now Meatloaf “anything for love”

my mother

singing top of her lungs

when divorced

and lost with two kids in the suburban jungle

working secretarial

wishing she had something better for us

and herself

this song is cheesy but its chalk full of us getting her to drive us to the movies like Hook and The sandlot and her howling louder than anyone in the theater- my shyness causing my embarrassment- classic and frightening then – beloved now- moms happy now

Unlike most stories

My characters all made out ok

Except a few acid heads and fiends for street and victims of the same stretch

I can do it all mom but I can’t lie

I won’t do it

Ha

I miss that life but less its consequences its traumas

I loved running from 16 year old bedroom of mom not home

And me scouring the 711 path to get a 6 pack of young Coca (cola)

Music time:

Whiter shade of pale.

Fuck I have to piss. In a bottle

Hahaha

Don’t forget young first best friend named Miles (he was my first Black friend)

and his closet filled halfway with

These random porno mags

And junk, and his shitty father.

Poor fucking kid grew up true ghetto

Im shit

I grew up and a hundred times

Acted foolish

To avoid it

But I’m a Rimbaud wannabe

Compared to this cat

“when we look for ourselves in the archaeology of film, we find Doc Hollywood and Garbage Pail Kids and Jason yes but Black Friday yes, and They Live a hundred times yes ! And Gremlins and Die Hard and Heathers and Pump up the fucking Volume

and waking like and Strange Days man and Gattaca soundtrack slow Blair road streets where we danced funktastick toward a sensible end”

Grampas stories about almost being beaten to death by natives

The Lachine always or the st Lawrence in the background

Hal banks

All that shit goes in

The Chinese restaurant and the fly in soup trick that failed

The song written about the bed bugs and the fleas

In Bordeaux Gaol “hey mickey miiiiiiickeeeey”

New scene, new film.