So, the Cherubs have a new album out... It kicks ass. It's like Buzz Osborne and Kim Gordon had a bastard love child. The child, named Be Sharp, was raised on a diet consisting entirely of prunes and leftover Thanksgiving turkey. The prunes were cooked via low voltage electricity. The current was generated by wrapping 38 D-cell batteries in aluminum foil and gently rubbing them through the fur of newborn Siamese-twin Persian kittens. The kittens, joined at the genitals, were abandoned by their mother, but lovingly raised by a pygmy goat named Alice. Alice suffered from halitosis. Her owner, seeking to cure Alice's skunky breath, invented an animal mouthwash made of acidic oils distilled from orange peels. The orange peel mouthwash killed Alice, but ended up being repurposed as an environmentally friendly solvent, and made Alice's owner an overnight millionaire. Years later, Be Sharp (Buzz Osborne and Kim Gordon's bastard love child... Remember him?), who had grown up and became a world famous thief, stole all of the money. He spent it on cocaine, several tons of glitter and 67 disco balls. He packed the cocaine and glitter into the disco balls, along with fistfuls of firecrackers. He hung them from the ceiling of the Fillmore right before a Cherubs concert. He blew them up during the second encore. The disco balls, not the Cherubs. The audience went ape shit. It was fucking awesome. Just like this album. Go buy it. Go buy it right now.
I started a new project. It has consumed me... Eaten me whole. It has taken on a life of its own, and now I have this living thing in my grasp, and I am trying like hell to not squeeze too tightly. It twists and turns and dives of its own volition. It's a helluva ride. I have been going back to Bukowski quite a bit for inspiration. This poem in particular has been resonating:
"How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 8:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? "
I'm working on it Chuck... I'm getting closer every day.
Today, the zero of you that read this are going to humor me while I ramble on about one of my heroes. The one and only Thomas Ruggles Pynchon. (Seriously... I have no idea where this is going. Initiate ramble... NOW.)
What I do for a living, I do with words. I'm a hack, but I'm a hack that loves his tools. I have an affection for them. I appreciate it when language is used effectively. It doesn't matter to me if the words are spoken, written, sung or read... I love 'em.
Thomas Pynchon is a kung-fu grand master word slinger. He is as good as it gets. His name belongs alongside the greats. Hemingway, Murakami, Gibson, Le Guin, Neruda... In his own way, he is every bit as powerful as anyone who has ever picked up a pen. (read more...)