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.