Category Archives: Lucubrations

Not enough actual writing today, but rather a lot of thought and planning.  Teaching a seven-hour class tomorrow (yeah, 7), so with any luck my voice will be so completely fried by the end, I’ll have no choice but to write.

N.P.:  “Deus in Absentia” – Ghost

Got a goddamn chemical burn on my tongue.  Nothing serious, just enough to piss me off.  There’s not even a good story behind it.  Self-inflicted but unintentional chemical burn.  On my tongue.  Pththththth.
Ouch.  Shit.

281 days.

N.P.: “Majesty” – Ghost

Hey Dearest Reader…how’s things?  Good, I hope.  I’m busy as hell, but I wanted check in and say hi and thank you for being here.  Still.  After all this. You are to be rewarded.
Okay, gotta get back to it.  See you back here tomorrow.

N.P.: “Absolution” – Ghost

Fuck Eddie Vedder.  And also fuck Netflix for cancelling The Joel McHale Show.  Dicks.  Each day, the “cable killer” becomes more and more like just another cable company.

Work is coming along on the book.  It’s not nearly as fun to write as other stuff has been, but it is extremely different from the other stuff I’ve written.  Which makes it difficult to gauge whether I’m doing a good job at it or not.   i guess we’ll see.  289 days left.

N.P.: “Institutionalized 2014” – Body Count

“You’re putting the ‘lit’ back into ‘literature.'”
I like it.  Millennials can be so clever.

Hot wings, tequila, and Cormac McCarthy…the makings of a fine Saturday.
When I was writing the first book, I was in a constant cycle of intentionally influential rereading Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter Thompson, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace, and Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney.  This time around it’s all Edgar Allan Poe and Cormac McCarthy.  Of McCarthy’s stuff, Child of God and No Country For Old Men are the specific titles I’ve been focusing on.  He does a brilliant job of making rather ugly things oddly beautiful…or at least not instantly dismissable.

I’ve heard it said many times that opening a book or movie with a passive scene from the past is almost always a catastrophic mistake.  Yet that’s what I’ve done.  Not sure that it should/will stay that way.  But last night,  I cam up with a simply wicked transition between that opening scene and the present.  Not sure what to do.  We’ll see what happens.

N.P.: “Baby Knows” – Prince, Sheryl Crow

293 days.

So all of a sudden the podcast is greenlit (greenlighted?)…whatever: people are on board.   Five people are on board.  Hayden McCabe will be producer and co-host.   It shall be, as the kids say, bomb.
Now I have to finish this book, otherwise the damn podcast won’t make much sense.  And now there are Others involved.  Shit.  I’d better get back to work.

N.P.: “Mother’s Little Helper” – The Rolling Stones

Question recently asked of random selected single men:  “Why are you still single?”

A few favorite answers:

  • “I just don’t want to date somebody that still gives a shit how many likes their duckface selfie gets and thinks they’re hot shit for drinking infinite Starbucks.”
  • “Some bitch ‘claimed’ my free hugs shirt and you can’t get other bitches without no free hugs.”
  • “Our tinder is a shit show filled with single moms wearing a camo hoodie.”

N.P.: “This Corrosion” – Maryslim

A very happy birthday to Hayden McCabe, webmaster of this very site and all around hell of a guy.

Tooth pain is the worst.  Even if it’s not the searing, blinding sort – even if it’s hovering around 3-4 out of 10 – it’s just insidious.  It makes it almost impossible to concentrate.  So you go to the dentist and she prescribes you something for the pain but that makes you sleepy.  That combined with the relatively sleepless night caused by the pain leaves one walking around like a rather grouchy zombie.



N.P.: “Aisha” – Death in Vegas

What’s crackin’, dearest reader?  There’s a lot going on over here.  As you may or may not know, I’ve been writing away for a very long time on who knows how many different projects, most seeming to have very little to do with any of the others.  The result has been a disorganized shamble of a monstrosity of a digital vault.  Despite the variety of ideas, there hasn’t been any idea that jumped out and grabbed me by the throat and said, “You must finish me immediately and unleash me upon the world.”  Nothing has cried out to be unleashed.  In fact, dealing with this has been more like having to take a few dozen ornery dogs for a walk every evening: after a while, just another chore.

But one project has made itself known as What I’m Supposed To Do Next.  it didn’t grab me by the throat…it didn’t have to.  It was more like a knowing look across a very crowded room.

So tomorrow I’m beginning 100 days of compiling, composing, filling in, taking out, and likely just thrashing the hell out of this thing and turning it into a book.  The 100 days after that will be dedicated to selling the thing, completing and editing it, as well as beginning production on a companion podcast for the book.  Which could be very interesting since I’m considering publishing the book anonymously (there are reasons), but obviously the podcast would be anything but.  Even if I did publish it anonymously, I would be outed within a few weeks.  But it could be fun.  We’ll see.  I can’t tell you what the next 100 days after that will be spent doing…at least not yet.  But at the end of that, when I wake up on that 300th day, June 4, 2019, I’m going to open my eyes and look around.  If I like what I see, then we’ll continue on.  And if I don’t, I’m going to Fuck Off.  Disappear.  Maybe go back down to Tijuana, get a room at Adelita’s, and pickle my guts on bogus tequila and street meats until I die of either parasites and cirrhosis  or in a shootout with the Federales in a huge blaze of bullshit.

Either way, it should be fun.

N.P.: “Ace of Spades” – Motörhead