The last two days weren’t really worth a damn, writing-wise.  But then I woke up just after 6:00 this morning, wrote brilliantly for a solid hour, then went back to sleep.  I liked it.  I think every morning should be like that.

It’s September.  That pleases us.  There are football games on TV.  That pleases us as well.  Not because we give the slightest damn about football, because we don’t, but because football, means fall, and fall means rainy days and dark nights.  This pleases us greatly.

N.P.: “Faith” – Ghost

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

“Biloxi Blues” remains a favorite.
Rest in peace.

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

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.

Sucks.

296

N.P.: “Aisha” – Death in Vegas