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We will cut open the notches between your toes, so that you may bleed into your footprints. We will cut open the skin behind your elbows and the skin behind your knees. We will burn you alive. When you perish, we will resurrect you, so that we may burn you again. You will chew on rocks. You will behold the slaying of mammals of all descriptions. You will hear a shrill squeal that never changes. You will be humilated and rejected by all. Your body will sprout tumors. You will live your life at gunpoint. Youíll get used to it.
In hate, as in love, you were always lackluster. Lacking direction. Since you could never properly hate the man, you decided to love him in the most painful way possible. It was never easy. For either of you. You canít live on passion. You never got a chance to recharge. You were bound to get crazy, or, worse yet, boring. But you stuck it out. You brought the pain, more and more of it. When the explosion finally happened, you were torn apart by the flying debris. Which didnít keep you from celebrating. You never did want to be comfortable.
Talk to my kids? Thatís all you got? You try talking to my kids. I donít even talk. I just listen. The girl goes on about, oh!, the pain, the boredomÖ ďI donít know what to do with my life. I know I should do something interesting. I guess Iím not interesting enough to be interesting. I should just jump off a building, or into a lake, or a volcanoÖĒ She goes on like this. What the fuck am I supposed to tell her? I donít have answers. I donít even have time for this shit. Then come the waterworks.
I will not be there. Not this time. Not the next time. Not ever. Iím not interested in anything youíre doing, or anything any of your friends is doing. I donít want to hang out. Not in your living room. Not in a bar or at a show. Leave me alone. I donít want to be involved with whatever game youíre playing this week. I donít want to make small talk. I canít look in your eyes or listen to your voice long enough to figure out what youíre talking about. Forget you ever knew me. Forget I ever tried.
Super Bowl Sunday. The Bears lost about an hour ago. Itís cold, well below zero, so cold you can see it through the windshield. The pipes froze last night. The landlord couldnít get anyone out to fix them. A car pulls halfway into a left turn, then stops, blocking traffic. At this point, the left turn signal ignites. Iíd wager that more drunken drivers are navigating the Chicagoland streets tonight than on any other night except maybe New Yearís Eve. By which I mean dangerously drunken. Nothing like a mix of drink and disappointment. I'm not drunk. I'm not driving.
Questionable. Thatís how I find you. Not just a little bit questionable, either. Very questionable. Extremely. Your questionable opinions, which contradict my opinions, are deserving of serious question. In my opinion. The way I see things. I have a questioning mind, you see, and I find it essential to question received wisdom, such as the sort of stuff I receive from you. I will not be programmed by your program. To those you have programmed, I say to you, ďYou might consider questioning this manís program, the underlying ideas of this program, and perhaps this man himself.Ē Consider yourself questioned.
Youíd like to rid yourself of the habit. Ridding yourself of habits is a worthwhile pursuit in and of itself, of course. But this one in particularÖ Youíre not sure why you keep doing this. Youíre not sure how you started. You donít get much out of it. You must get something out of it, but you canít, at this time, imagine what. And yet, you keep doing it. Youíve done it for five years. Itís not a big part of your day, but you resent the role it plays in your memories. The opportunity cost. So stop. Just stop.
Look both ways on your way out of the kitchen. If you canít take the coldÖ take solace in the kitchen. Kitchen times. Everything but the kitchen sink, and that was down for repairs that day. Three kitchenettes can sing backup for a kitchen. Or maybe theyíll be kitchens themselves someday, if they build a little character, if theyíre not afraid of some good grease. Terror-sniffing dogs in the kitchen. If thereís terror in that kitchen, those dogs will find it. Or maybe that can sniff out illegals. Terror is where you find it. Learn and practice kitchen safety.
Iím leaving. Please listen for the phones. Iím leaving. Please help answer the phones. Iím LEAVing. Please listen for the phones. Iím LEAVing. Please listen for the phones. Iím leaving. Please help answer the phones. Iím LEAVing. Please help answer the phones. Iím leaving. Please listen for the phones. Iím leaving. Please help answer the phones. Iím LEAVing. Please listen for the phones. Iím leaving. Please help answer the phones. Iím LEAVing. Please help answer the phones. So. Thatís it, I guess. If anything happens to me, please listen for the phones. Bye. Wipe your feet on the way out.
So this is a movie about making movies. Kind of like a movie within a movie. Right? And thatís all fine and good. I have no problem with movies within movies per se. But isnít it a little early in the day for this? Didnít we maybe skip a few steps as a species? Like curing cancer. Or dividing by zero. Right? This kid has a fog machine inside a pumpkin in his basement, and still doesnít have any friends. Loser. Right? If you follow music, youíll know that Leif Garretís groupies were referred to as the Leif Blowers. Right?
You can date a bike by the serial number. If it starts with ďAK,Ē the bike was made in January of 1974. ďAĒ is for January, the first month. ďKĒ is the 14th letter of the alphabet, which represents 1974. I had this explained to me for my role as a creepy, technically focused assistant in a film. I donít quite understand it, but it was my job to play a character that does, so I did my best. My best is always the best I can do. You can look it up, if itís something you think youíll use.
As it is. As it does. As it stands. As it lays. As it happens. As it goes. As it thinks. As it dreams. As it grows. As it moves. As it sings. As it drones. As it falls. As it plays. As it sinks. As it stays. As it remains. As it will. As it did. As it always will be. As it follows. As it leads. As it progresses. As it wonít. As it didnít. As it doesnít. As it never will. As it can. As it cannot. As it wants to. As it needs to. As is.
It wasnít a fight, exactly. I wouldnít call it a fight. Not that that justifies it. I was drunk. Doped. Stupefied, oblivious. I found you sitting in a bar. Hanging with your people. I pulled your chair out. Right out from under you. You hit the floor. I walked out like an asshole. You were an intense, intelligent guy. I liked, respected and feared you. I didnít want to piss you off. When I did, I wanted to get one-up on you. Itís late in the game now, and you seem to have forgiven me anyway. But I do apologize.
A large percentage of projects fail. Particularly if you count the ones that never properly materialize. And particularly if you give the momentarily successful ones, the ones that do come together and run for a while, enough time. So thereís no shame in giving up. Sometimes it doesnít work. Sometimes physics says no. Take a breather. Drop it. Let it die. Save your strength for spring cleaning. It was fun for a time. It isnít worth the effort anymore. Kick back. Watch someone else succeed. All the good ideas have been had. We all knew you would fuck it up.
They wonít stop fucking with this one kid, this kid they call Smiley. Hard to figure. Heís agonizingly friendly. He was the first kid that talked to you. You didnít know anyone. All the other kids acted as though theyíd been chums since the nursery. Except Smiley. He came right up and talked to you. AboutÖ a bunch of dork shit youíd never heard of and didnít care about. But he talked to you all the same. You were cool with the other kids. You werenít really part of their dynamic. They let you be. But they gave Smiley hell.
There are things that I know. There are many other things that I do not know. There are things I have always known. There are things that I have learned in time. In time, I have learned, and come to accept, that there will be some things I will never know, for no man can know everything, not even the depths of his own ignorance. But I have found that to know some of what one knows, and to have some understanding of what one does not knowÖ this is the noblest objective of a human life. To know knowing.
I have constructed a lifestyle based on the denial of my baser instincts. I donít fuck. I donít jerk off. I donít take any poison into my body that might have pleasant effects. I wash my hands constantly, unless theyíre really filthy and thereís a piece of peeled fruit Iím supposed to eat, in which case I just go for it. When I get angry, I donít yell. When I desire someoneís affection, I think of the most insulting thing I could say to that person, and I yell that. I only sleep when Iím not tired. I hallucinate constantly.
Oh, help me, Jesus. Somebody needs you tonight. Oh, heavenly father. Someone out there is sick, Lord. Someone is lonely. Someone needs your blessing. Someone needs your heavenly wisdom. Look down on me, Father. Hear what Iím saying to you, Lord. People are trying to get food on their table. People are trying to make their dreams come true. People are trying to get out of the wrong lives. People are trying to pick themselves and their families up from the wickedness, Lord. Look down on the sick and the hungry. Look down on the sad and the lonely, Lord.
You take all the people, you round them up, and you give them an IQ test. The ones that donít pass Ė you want the bar pretty high, understand Ė you sterilize the bastards. Thatíll cut down on your garbage right there. Then you put the dry ones in work camps. Matching uniforms, everything. Make them pick up the garbage thatís out there, and give them some dynamite, and they can blow it up, the garbage. Thatíll get rid of it. Maybe one will get mad and hit another one over the head with something. Cut the other oneís IQ in half.
You shouldíve known better, dude. Some people are cool and some arenít. Some are leaders and some are followers. And some are just fucking fags. But they all have one thing in common. They were born the way they are, the way theyíll always be, and thereís nothing they can do about it except for acceptance. But look at you, dude. You walked into an space where you couldnít hang. You did something you didnít know how to do. You fucked up. And weíre all laughing. People you donít even know are laughing. But you still donít get it. Fag.
The soda machine buzzes away, mixing with the faint hum of the fluorescents. ďIím going to have to think about it. I think I have. I donít remember specifically.Ē Two quarters slide into the machine, followed by a dime. ďThere was a blonde, a natural blonde, who was dyed black at the time. You couldnít really see the fuzz at all, down there. You could feel it, but you couldnít really see it.Ē An aluminum can filled with sugar water clunks through the chute. ďAnd there was one girl who was dyed blonde at the time. Sure, Iíve fucked blondes.Ē
Choice. Choices. Decisions. Decision-making. Decisions not yet made. Fuck Ďem. Fuck it all. I donít want choices. I donít want to make up my mind. All this shit, all this great buffet of choices, is just MORE SHIT I GOTTA DO. I donít want to decide. I donít want to choose not to decide, and still have made a choice. Give me a PROGRAM. Every day the same. Every day, the same thing at every hour. Nothing ever happens except on the hours and the 30s. Iím TIRED. Iím TIRED ALL THE TIME. I donít want to ask for anything.
$200 says you have no idea what Iím thinking aboutÖ now. But it doesnít matter a lick, now does it? Go wild. Fuck in Mamaís living room. Thereís only one thing that feels better than burning up the dance floor, and thatís a rugburn, or better yet a bunchov Ďem. (ďBabyís On FireĒ indeed.) So grab that. Smack that. Eat it up raw. Grow old rememberiní all the good hot poony-oon you saw. Yeah-uh. Yeah? Uh, yes? No. IÖ Iím not sure what happened to that. I apologize. Iíll make sure itís righted. Sorry. Of course. Thank you.
ďHey there.Ē ďHey. How you doiní.Ē ďYouíre welcome to go in and have a look around. We have some filmsÖĒ ďThanks.Ē ďMy nameís Joe.Ē ďMy nameís, uh, Emerson.Ē ďAm-ah-ur-sen?Ē ďI had nothing to do with it.Ē ďRight. Totally not your call.Ē I never had a nickname that stuck. I never wanted one. Everybody gets one name before anybody gets two. Snow still coming down. Did you catch the thunder and lightning? Depends. Sometimes theyíll throw the book at you, just to make an example of you. Sometimes the arresting officer wonít show up, and youíll walk, after you basically confessed.
Party at your place, winding down. Itís me, my ride, you and her. The two of us are about to leave. The two of you are both depantsed, and youíre eating her crotch through her American flag panties. Pretty rich, right? And then, then you go and throw out the word RAPE, like you always do, as a joke or as a declaration of your big metaphor, your prism for human existence. She winces, pulls her pants up and gets a ride home from us. You call the next morning, remembering nothing, a weak man at his own dubious mercy.
HELP ME GET AWAY. Buy me a ticket to Tokyo. Give me a ride to the airport. Give me a sheet of acid. Donít fuck up and laminate it. Give me a ride to San Jose. Or psych me up to hitchhike. Introduce me to new things, ideas. Introduce me to new people. Kidnap me. Push me out of a plane, over the ocean. Step on my foot. Hit the in the face. Talk shit about something I believe in. Suck me off. Jerk me off. Give me something interesting to think about. Save me some trouble. Get into it.
Another pulled playing card. Before it was one. Cats and other animals. Drunk on his influence. Estimates high and low. Forgotten simulations of ponds. Go and do likewise. Hate to see it. Igloos, icicles and what-not. Jelly and peanut butter. Kilowatts of raw boredom. Limited to first takers. Mint condition school hubcaps. Nowhere to start again. Ovaries pierced and tatted. Perform for us, goddamnit. Quick one, Ashley, baby. Reload and ask again. Superimposed pictures of cages. Try me, you asshole. Underwater surveillance continues apace. Very crunchy peanut shells. Water the grass, boy. Youíre on your own. Zip! Zap! Zounds! Hooray!
A conflicted passion for order and regimentation. Early viewing of goofy comedies. A preference for camaraderie over solipsism. A surge of blood to the brain had after doing pushups. A raging erection had while shooting a firearm. A desire to inspire simultaneous admiration and turmoil in loved ones. A belief that there just has to be a correct way of doing things. A deferred dream of dying in a space shuttle explosion. A deferred dream of being a cop. Residual self-hatred as an indirect result of accidentally setting the alarm for 6:45 PM. A belief that there are no accidents.
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