The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Author: DC (Page 1097 of 1133)

Gig #61: Of late 11: ooioo, Puce Mary, Pallbearer, Tlaotlon, Tashi Dorji, Martyrdöd, Cannibal Movie, Moiré, Moonface, Foxes in Fiction, uncertain, Pharmakon, Mai Mai Mai, Collarbones

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OOIOO Atatawa
‘OOIOO has always created a musical language all its own. Under the leadership of Yoshimi, also a founding member of Boredoms, the group has recorded six albums that have subverted expectations and warped perceptions of what constitutes pop and experimental music. Four years of work went into to making Gamel, their bold new album inspired by the Javanese style of gamelan and the first new music from Yoshimi in over five years. Gamelan is an ancient form that has inspired a great many composers and musicians over the past century, from Erik Satie and Claude Debussy to Mouse on Mars and Sun City Girls. The introduction of this traditional form transformed the group into a super tribe, side-stepping the road between the past and the future. Their focus is not to replicate these ancient styles, but to incorporate them into their consistently inventive, constantly shifting musical frameworks. They take their love of indigenous music into an entirely new dimension by freely weaving organic and electric tones into a vivid tapestry, employing their keen sense of color and texture.’ — Thrill Jockey

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Puce Mary The Course
‘Once in a while an artist comes along who manages to both cherish the tradition of industrial music and at the same time walk their own path, choosing their own route to truth: Experiment. With her first solo full length, released last year, Puce Mary managed to do exactly that – and now with the follow-up Persona, she proves herself to be one of the most interesting projects around today. Persona manages to balance the hyper personal universe of the artist with enough care for presentation to make it valuable for everyone to listen to, and take part in her experience. And she does that through six tracks, that each take their own place while corresponding beautifully with its neighbors. From primitive rhythmic patterns to elaborate drone pieces and pain stricken vocals. Insisting on finding new routes for the work and with a rare honesty, “Persona” holds its listener captive from start to finish.’ — Posh Isolation

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Pallbearer The Ghost I Used to Be
‘With the groundwork laid upon with Sorrow and Extinction, Foundations Of Burden essentially takes the PALLBEARER creative oeuvre to new realms that not only takes their doom metal pedigree even further, but also sees the them harness their prog and traditional heavy metal influences even more. The result being an album much more than its predecessor with the melodies and harmonies being more massive, the music more progressive and layered, the overall atmosphere and sonic weight even more earth shattering. Production and sound wise, Billy Anderson’s expertise behind the control boards has helped PALLBEARER flesh out and highlight their sound even more through massive crushing tones, attention to deteail and defined clarity while still maintaining that classic almost vintage-like production feel.’ — Profound Lore

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Tlaotlon Cassini Tubs
‘Rather than qualifying Tlaotlon as one of the innumerable acts that direct themselves toward the stimulation, sharing, and settling of emotion, its music’s sleek burbling and erratic turns of phrase lump Coubrough in that marginalized niche of soundmakers who chase after emotion’s suppression or even dissolution, who want to make its expression nigh on impossible. This is why the steady measurements of an artificial kickdrum are unceremoniously disturbed by out-of-step snares, hiccup’d synths, and irregularly phased samples, creating multiple trains of thought and affect that, in cancelling each other out, thereby prevent themselves from enjoying a concerted or continuous effect on the listener’s moodscape. And without their mutual coordination, even though this listener might momentarily recognize the shimmied, heavy clinking of a PC-generated riff as evoking maybe a futuristic wasteland or soulless HTML interface, any development or consolidation of her initial reaction is going to be quickly stifled by the arrant percussion and static-infused textural flourishes, leaving her stranded in a psychically indeterminate limbo.’ — Tiny Mix Tapes

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Tashi Dorji Throttle
‘One fascinating paradox about art is that limits can prove freeing. Narrow your parameters and you might find solutions you wouldn’t have if your choices were infinite. It’s why entire movements have been based on self-imposed restrictions: take the Oulipo group, whose Georges Perec wrote an entire novel without the letter e. … It might seem odd to compare those contrivances to the simple act of making solo instrumental guitar music. After all, the form is not exactly unusual, having been around longer than jazz ensembles or rock bands. Still, to play guitar alone is to submit to restrictions—not only in the finite number of sounds you can make, but in what little innovation is still available. So much has been done and so many legends loom large—especially, for anyone picking strings now, the two-headed monster of John Fahey and Derek Bailey—that playing something new seems nearly impossible. I’m not sure Tashi Dorji has made anything completely new yet, but the range of creative solutions he’s found while trying to avoid the well-worn paths of instrumental guitar music is thrilling.’ — Marc Masters

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Martyrdöd En Jobbigt Jävel
‘Swedish wrecking-crew Martyrdöd have done enough to separate themselves from the crust-pack over their decade-plus existence. By combining the raw intensity and hardcore punk ethos of Käng forbears Anti Cimex and Totalitär with the twin-guitar attack of classic rock and the epic Scandinavian metal of Bathory, the independence borne from this blend of influences and the overall ambition of Martyrdöd – who boast members of Agrimonia, Skitsystem, and Miasmal – has never been in dispute. With their politically-charged 2012 debut for Southern Lord, Paranoia, Martyrdöd managed to announce themselves to a larger, albeit still underground audience. The album was well received by critics and crust fans alike; its incendiary spirit and ever-increasing melodic mindfulness proved to be salacious bedfellows. As a result, there’s greater anticipation surrounding Martyrdöd’s new album, Elddop, than on any of their previous four full-length albums. And unsurprisingly, Elddop proves itself to be just as good, if not better, than its predecessor(s).’ — The Quietus

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Cannibal Movie Fame
‘This Italian duo, consisting of Donato Epiro on organ (an old Italian one, according to the band) and Gaspare Sammartano on drums, cranks out some serious music that seems improbable given the number of players. If you want to talk about something being way beyond the sum of its parts, this is it, because at any given time, thanks to some creative layering and manipulation, the organ sounds like it could be three or four instruments playing at once, piling up riffs, effects, and reverb in scattered, pulsing, propulsive collages of sound. Still, the organ would be nothing without the solid drumming behind it — simultaneously loose and locked-in, the drumwork manages to both ground the music but also add to the overall wild atmosphere of the music. Put this together, and you get some incredible sound voodoo that evokes free-form psychedelia, krautrock, jazz improv, and a little bit of Suicide for good measure.’ — Secret Decoder

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Moiré Attitude
‘Moiré’s Shelter opens with a rising clatter. The moment when the bassline and loping kick join the thrum is a neat microcosm for both the album and the producer’s name: a first pattern onto which a second seems superimposed, creating a whole in a constant state of flux. Claps and stabs on ‘Attitude’ lag, while a skeletal, gloomy bassline anchors everything deep without adding much by way of a groove. As elements flutter in and out of the mix, it becomes increasingly apparent that concern for the dance floor is peripheral to Moiré’s introspective take on club music. In that sense, it owes a small but definite debt to the nebulous dance-not-dance music of Actress et al; but where that was an obvious touch point for earlier Moiré singles, the similarities are far less pronounced on Shelter. Moiré doesn’t search for perfect beats as much as he allows them to wander in and out of his tunes, so grooves are as apt to slip away just as suddenly as they appear.’ — Fact Magazine

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Moonface City Wrecker
‘Hello everyone and anyone. I recently made some more recordings under the name Moonface, which take the form of a 5 song EP called City Wrecker, and run at around half an hour. “City Wrecker” is the title track of the EP. I wrote it before Miley Cyrus released “Wrecking Ball,” but I cannot prove it. Oh well. In describing the song (and maybe the whole EP) I would say it’s the aesthetic opposite of “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus, which is not to say that’s a good thing or a bad thing, just an apple for you to hold up beside your orange. Regardless of all that, my friend Eetu, who recorded this EP, still likes to call the song “Wrecking Ball” and to sometimes call me Miley, but that’s okay cuz we’re buddies. I lived in Finland for a couple of years, but now I live in a little town nestled in the woods of Vancouver Island. This is a recent move, and so City Wrecker represents the last album I completed in Helsinki. Maybe I will go back to that big icy lighthouse, and all the lovely weirdos within I have come to love, one day, but for now I have used it up.’ — Spencer Krug

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Foxes in Fiction Rearrange
‘Toronto-native Warren Hildebrand began his Foxes in Fiction project in 2005, during his sophomore year of high school, as an outlet for his drug-induced, experimental sound collages. In 2011, Hildebrand hunkered down in his Toronto apartment, writing and recording what would later become his second Foxes in Fiction full-length album entitled Ontario Gothic. “The running theme throughout Ontario Gothic is how I picked up the pieces of my life after the death of my younger brother Drew in 2008, but each song references specific and discreet experiences,” says Hildebrand. “Personal loss and dealing with anxiety and depressive issues that I’ve struggled with my most of my life have played into my music and the way I work for as long as I can remember. Growing up gay on a small farm in rural Ontario was part of the reason that I got into writing and making music as a young kid, and the isolation and loneliness that I went through because of that helped to shape the conditions under which I usually make my best work.”’ — First Avenue

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uncertain the cycle of tears (moon) – the high priestess
‘uncertain is a music project started by artist, composer, poet, occultist, and androgyne Florian-Ayala Fauna in the WinterSolstice of 2007 during a dark night of the soul + Florian was later joined by vocalist and percussionist Felix Keigh in SummerSolstice of 2013 after revelations + visions through scrying with an obsidian black mirror. Their work seeks to collect, arrange, dissect, create, disfigure, beautify, set fire to, seed, and manipulate delicate, fragile sounds that vary from the organic to the unearthly. Sound sources frequently found in their music include natural field recordings, the noises of animals, processed acoustic instruments, synthesized and mangled electronics, and sounds found on decaying magnetic tapes.’ — collaged

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Pharmakon @ The Print Shop (MOMA PS1)
‘Unlike other experimental projects, Pharmakon does not improvise when performing or recording. She is concise and exact; each song/movement is linear with a clear trajectory. Perhaps more than any other style of music, noise is a genre almost exclusively dominated by male performers. Spin Magazine is apt to point out that her,“perfectionism might explain why her recordings are few and far between — a rarity in a scene where noise bros are want to puke out hour after endless hour of stoned basement jams into a limitless stream of limited-edition tapes. Her music may be as cuddly as a trepanning drill, but it’s also just as precise: She glowers in measured silence as often as she shrieks, and every serrated tone cuts straight to the bone, a carefully calibrated interplay between frequency and resistance.”’ — Sacred Bones

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Mai Mai Mai εὐφρόνη
‘Instantly, the UK “hauntology” scene of Demdike Stare and others springs to mind, but there is a playfulness behind Mai Mai Mai that many a British act seem to lack. Tracks bubble with wobbly analogue synthesiser lines and drones, consistently disturbed and unsettled by bursts of gristly noise. Beats are dropped casually into tracks, deployed sparingly but with subtle rhythmic force. Delta feels alchemical, a smartly distilled collection of sounds brewed together into a heady cocktail of genre-less, arrhythmic post-everything.’ — collaged

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Collarbones Too Much
‘Collarbones are a long distance Australian electronic pop/r&b; collaborative duo, comprised of Adelaide’s Travis Cook and Sydney’s Marcus Whale, beginning in 2007. Debut album Iconography was released in March 2011 on Two Bright Lakes, who also put out the followup, Die Young in 2012. “Last night, a few more Collarbones fans from overseas made fan accounts and spammed us dozens of times until we followed them. We like to joke around about being a boy band, but it doesn’t make it any less ridiculous when it actually happens.”– Collarbones.’ — collaged


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p.s. Hey. ** David Ehrenstein, Ha ha, nice. ** James, Hi, James. I’m like Jimmy Hoffa with my emails. I have read the new Levé. It’s great, of course. Short, linked works. Very, very good. If you like his writing, you’ll like it a lot, I think. It was his first book in France. And there are only those three books by him, although apparently he left some unpublished mss. along with a stated wish that they not be published, so I don’t know if they ever will be. ** Thomas Moronic, Thanks so much again for the gp! Uh, now that you mention it, there was this inexplicable phenomenological event in the air at one point yesterday, huh. So that’s what it was trying to tell me. Cool riff on those restaurants. I feel pretty confident in saying that they must be far more interesting in theory than in practice, not that I won’t swoop in given my first proximity. I think a really great faux-haunted restaurant could definitely be devised and realized, by me, given the funding, but whether anyone who would want to eat there, I don’t know. Probably not. Of course I love what you say about your novel’s surface. I mean, wow, totally, what an amazing goal. Yeah, it sounds incredible. That didn’t sound like a mess at all. My novel is very exciting and very different and quite difficult to figure out how to write in the right way, and I’m pretty confident about it, but I haven’t been able to do more than dip in and scribble a bit for a couple of months. But as as soon as the film shooting is over, it’ll get the great majority of my attention. Thanks, T! ** Keaton, Yeah, I noticed you were away. I’m sorry that it involved a wreck. I didn’t actually get to read your thing yet because yesterday ended up being involved in a couple of sudden crises, but, as soon as I go out to the Paris suburbs this morning to buy a tent for our upcoming scene, I’ll get to savor it. Big time. Welcome back, pal! ** Jared, Hi. You would really and totally think so, wouldn’t you. It’s positively bizarre that there isn’t and, I think, never has been, given LA’s status as the world leader in Halloween spooky attractions. Oh, I would very much love either a Tory Dent Day, which, no, I’ve never done, or one on Arabic calligraphy, which is a really exciting idea and thing to imagine. Yeah, would be invaluable and very helpful if doing either of those would suit you. Thanks, J! You’re ruling. ** Kier, Hi, Kier! Me too, about the not knowing what you’re eating, being a vegetarian and all. There’s an eat-in-the-dark restaurant here in Paris with blind waiters, which is a fun idea, but no way would I enter it. No, I haven’t been to many themed restaurants, for the above stated reason. Zac and I almost went to a robot themed one in Tokyo where robots serve your food and do a big robot show and stuff, but it ended up seeming too intense to do or something. Yay for the great and generous and multi-talented — my spellcheck just corrected ‘multi-talented’ into ‘mutilated’, which I think he might enjoy conceptually — Bill! Wait, and yay for the great, generous, not mutilated but multi-everything you in return! What a lovely exchange! Good about your excitement trumping your nervousness. I’m getting that way about the film shooting finally. Sucks that ‘Still Life’ sucks. I like the title. I’m anxious about the film shooting, for sure, but I’m feeling weirdly calm, and Zac’s very nervous since he’s the director and everything, so I’m trying to maintain my calm and exude it in his direction infectiously. Love from me. How was Tuesday? ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. I just googled ‘Dundee “weird restaurant”‘ but nothing came up, sadly, other than some restaurant what had ‘weird’ waiters, but not weird in an interesting way. Cool and fingers twistedly crossed about the post-work meeting with Andrew tomorrow! Or, wait, today! ** Matthew, Hi, Matthew! How really great to see you! Thanks about the thematic slide between the weekend post and yesterday’s. I guess if one finds experimental dark music horrific, and I know many around here do, ha ha, today might even qualify. Or at least the gif at the post’s head does. Hm, house horror, interesting. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything other than the obvious ‘House of Leaves’, which I wasn’t so into. My ‘Marbled Swarm’ has some of that, I guess. I’ll think, though. Everyone, Matthew asks for ‘some recommendations or directions on how to find some good books that experiment with house horror, like [Blake Butler’s] “There Is No Year”.’ Any ideas? Thank you! ** Turn porter, Hi. Yeah, Vilnius sounds really far away and exotic, but it’s only a couple of hours by plane from Paris. Europe is weird. Sorry about the reluctant composer but, yeah, you’ll find another. Wow, the shoot sounds like a lot of fun. You’re shooting the whole thing in three days? Yikes. We have three-day shoots for each of our scenes, and it has never been as much time as we really wanted. I will give progress updates when we start again. On Sunday, for the actual shooting. Thanks about that old dog ‘Closer’. You sound really up and excited. It’s really nice to hear, read, and feel! About half of those ‘haunted’ restaurants are still open, and, no, I haven’t been to any of them. ** Etc etc etc, Hi. That sounds nice: the wine and Seine thing. Wednesday should work. Do I have your email address? Hm, why don’t you send your phone number by email, and I’ll send you back mine and try to call you. Mine is: dcooperweb@gmail.com.  I don’t know what ‘viber’ is, but I’ll ask someone. Cool, hopefully see you right away! ** Misanthrope, Oh, man, that’s so sad about LPS’s return to hell, or, well, hopefully not hell, but, yeah, it sounds hellish. Oh, man, it sucks to be young enough to have no real power over your life. I hated that. So Lesnar is still a monster? I guess that’s cool. I never liked Cena, not one little bit, so that’s cool except for if his neck is actually fucked up in the real world. I’m sure he’s nice.  ** Steevee, Hi. ** Hyemin Kim, Your description of Bernanos’s style makes it sound like something I would like. It’s really nice that you like his work. It’s so exciting to find a writer one likes enough that his or her work becomes a future path. ** Kyler, Hi, K. Really, it surprises you that I did Space Mountain? Theme park rides and roller coasters are very prominent on my menu of things I love to do. Fire Island, cool. A bunch of people in my news feed on Facebook seem to be there right now. That German guy sounds like a tasteless jerk, yeah. The period just after the excitement of the initial publication is always really confusing and rough. Always. You have to find a way to transition into feeling the ongoing, back burner pleasure that the book is alive and mysteriously having a life, reaching people you don’t know by means you don’t know, leading to reactions that you’ll never hear. I like that, but it took me a while to learn to like it. ** Rewritedept, Hey! Nice to see you, man! It’s been a while! What’s been up? Frisco, cool. And for lovely reasons on both counts. Shooting starts on Sunday, and rehearsals start on Thursday. Actually, both of those are mostly really fun. The cray cray part is the build up and getting ready part. I’m good. There isn’t a whole lot going on that isn’t film-related. But I am starting to plan an upcoming trip to Iceland with Zac. That should be amazing. I hope your trip to No. Cal. eases the semi-crazy thing a ton. ** Right. Today you get another gig of music I’ve been listening to lately and really liking. Great stuff in there if you’re game to watch and listen. See you tomorrow.

DC’s Writers Workshop #16: Chris “rewritedept” Gugino excerpt

Welcome back to DC’s Writers Workshop. This is the sixteenth in a series of days on the blog where writers who are part of the blog’s community present work-in-progress in search of the opinions, responses, advice, and critiques of both readers who don’t normally post comments here and local inhabitants of this place. I ask everyone to please read these works with the same attention you give the normal brand of posts here and respond in some way in the comments section below. Obviously, the closer your attention and the more you’re able and willing to say to the writer the better. But any kind of related comment is welcome, even a simple sentence or two indicating you read the piece of writing and felt something or other about it would be helpful. The only guideline I’m going to give out regarding comments is that any response, whether lengthy or brief, praise filled or critical or anywhere inbetween, should be presented in a spirit of helping the writer in question. I’ll be responding to the work too in the Comments section towards the end of the weekend. So, I guess all of that is probably clear. Giving support to the artists of different kinds who read and post on the blog has always been a very important aspect of this project, and this workshop series represents an opportunity to make that aspect more formal and explicit. This weekend’s workshop features an excerpt from a novel-in-progress work by the writer and d.l. Rewritedept aka Chris Gugino. He asks for any thoughts, support, or criticism you can give him. I thank him greatly for entrusting his work to us, and I thank you all in advance for your kind participation. — D.C.

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hey everyone. thanks for reading this introductory sample of my as-yet-untitled novel-in-progress. if you wish to offer notes, i would love to read them. you can comment here or, should you so desire, email me at rewritedept @yahoo.X. make sure you remove the spaces and replace the X with com. be brutally honest, unflinching and unforgiving. tell me all the shit you hated. you can tell me the stuff you liked too. as noted, this is still untitled, so if you want to offer suggestions for titles, i’ll check ’em out. thanks again, and i hope you love it! — CG aka Rewritedept

excerpt
by Chris Cugino

he’s the perfect mark: plastic-framed cat’s eye glasses; hair that, while not a bowlcut, obviously was at some point, though now it’s overgrown and in need of a trim; looks like maybe his mom dresses him, still, which at this age is seriously pathetic.

what do i know, though? maybe his mom’s dead and he has no clue what a dork he looks.

i figure i can probably make him for a fifty dollar blow job, enough for a couple bags and maybe some food. wonder if he’ll let me fix at his place.

—

we get to his apartment, and it’s about what i’d expected. cheap target furniture, sparse and neat. he says he has something he wants to show me.

first, hands me a shoebox of photos. some polaroids, a bunch of old 4×6 prints, a couple school portraits. says he’ll be back but to busy myself looking through those. asks if i want a drink while i wait.

‘beer, if you have any.’

off to the kitchen he goes while i start flipping through the photos. photos are about what i’d expected, too:

him fishing with what i’m assuming is his father, although they look nothing alike, squinting into the sun and holding a fish that’s easily half as long as he is tall.

standing outside some amusement park with his mother (you can spot the resemblance this time, though she’s not nearly as needy and sad looking as he).

school portraits: 2nd grade, 5th grade, middle school.

about a quarter of the way into the box, things take a turn.

some dismally furnished living room: wood paneling on the walls, fake tartan couch, coffee table that looks too heavy to move more than once with probably the ugliest lamp i’ve ever seen on top of it.

he’s sitting on the couch, sipping a beer. maybe eleven, twelve. wearing cutoffs and a plaid shirt that clashes so badly with the tartan of the couch that i’m relieved when, four pictures in, he removes it.

it’s around this time that he finally reenters the room and hands me a beer. domestic, the cheap fuck.

‘oh, this wasn’t even my first shoot. i wonder who got these out of order…’ he says, semi-mysteriously. but before i can respond, he’s off again, this time in the direction of the bedroom.

he’s got the same glasses, or at least the same style, as he’s wearing now. the same style he was wearing when i cruised him.

in the next three photos, he strikes some poses that are too goofy and sad to really count as sexy, is then joined by a man on the couch. the man looks to be about forty, though i can never tell once they’re over a certain age, as all i ever look for are the signs of money and that desperate, clingy neediness that i know mean he’ll let me spend the night, hit him up for a couple hundred in the morning on the threat of turning him in to the cops and ruining his life. because of my age, i never actually go into any of the bars i work, unless —–(redacted)’s working the door. he’ll let me in if i sit over by the jukebox and don’t make my nod too obvious. generally by that point, i’m starting to come down anyway, so my thoughts are only on choosing the right target to make sure i can fill my needs for the night. sometimes, if i pick the right guy, i can take care of my habit for a few days. one guy even let me crash with him for almost a whole week, but i left when the things he wanted got too weird, even for me.

anyway, the older guy comes into frame. makes the boy finish his beer before handing him another one. starts to kiss him somewhere around ten photos in. starts to work a hand down his shorts in the next photo.

photo twenty (i think, i’ve pretty much lost count by this point): the boy’s shorts are off (have been off for maybe the last seven pictures, now that i think about it) and the man, now standing, is pressing the boy’s face against the crotch of his jeans, which the boy appears to be sniffing with wild abandon, whatever the fuck that means.

next photo: the boy is fishing the man’s cock out of his now unzipped jeans. the dick looks too large, in the boy’s hands and next to his face.

next four photos, in quick succession: the man has a hardon. the boy takes it into his mouth. two shots of the boy sucking, one where he’s just at the tip; the next, he’s deepthroating it, his nose buried in the man’s pubes, his eyes wide.

it’s at this point that the boy, now a man himself, reenters the room, this time with an unlabeled VHS tape which he feeds into the VCR while turning on the tv, which is already set to the correct channel.

‘i still have these on, oh, five or six 8mm loops, but the expense and hassle of hauling a projector around every time i move got to be too much to deal with, not to mention all the work of setting up a screen and projector every time i wanted to show someone my youthful, erm, accomplishments. so i had an editor friend of mine transfer everything over to video about a year ago.’

the first one starts: he’s a little younger than in the pictures, walking into a field with two boys, one a little older than me and the other maybe twelve, thirteen.

jump cut: the oldest boy lays out a picnic blanket, which the younger two clamber on to. the two older boys surround the youngest boy. one begins tickling him, the oldest one, while the middle boy kisses him and begins tonguing hungrily at his open mouth. even at the distance and angle the camera is, you can tell the youngest boy, my date for the evening, has little or no experience with tongue kissing. he just kind of holds his mouth open and lets the older boy fumble around and dart his tongue in and out.

it’s around when the oldest boy starts to undress my date that he opens a box on the table (the real one, not the one on the tv). inside are a couple largeish bags of what has to be extremely high quality h, since it’s powder and not the tar i usually fuck with. also, a couple spoons (one is large, bent and charred; the other is small, obviously only useful for snorting drugs) and some syringes and needles. thankfully the syringes and needles are still wrapped, so they’re sterile.

‘wanna fix before we get started?’

‘are you going to?’

‘oh no, i don’t do this shit. can’t really stand it, to be honest. but i can smell a user from a mile off, so if you want to take a little to ease yr worries, make the whole thing more enjoyable, i understand.’

that’s all the permission i need, so i grab one of the bags and the smaller spoon and take a quick sniff, just to test potency. i’ll shoot some later if it feels right, but a couple small snorts should be enough to get me in the mood for whatever’s coming next.

—

it’s amazing how little i have to do to show a guy i’m interested. from my perch by the jukebox, i give him a look: half-hungry, half-sad.

a look that says ‘take me home and make me feel better and maybe i’ll let you do something interesting with–or to–me.’

usually it takes a couple glances to get a guy to come pay attention. not this guy, though. he’s up after just one look, walking across the room. i can almost hear the ice cubes in his drink rattling in their glass.

he gets to me, holds out a hand. ‘sam. and you are…?’

‘fucking parched,’ i say, before grabbing his drink, finishing it in one gulp and setting the empty glass back in his empty hand. i’ve learned from practice how to drink quickly enough that the bartender (this real asshole who i’m sure wants to fuck me but can’t get over the mildly pedophilic implications of actually going through with it, and so instead acts like he despises me and any of the guys i leave this shithole with) won’t catch me and toss me out, something he’s done a couple times.

for some reason he never complains when —–(redacted, again) lets me in again, though.

sam’s drinking something faggy and sweet, a washington apple or something like that. i tell him to go grab a beer this time. i love playing rough trade to these simpering mama’s boys who, for some fucked reason i can never figure out, always seem to be so interested in me.

i watch him as he walks away, and i swear there’s an extra swing in his step that wasn’t there when he approached. old fruit’s trying to make me check out his ass, like maybe that’ll make me ignore the slight potbelly or his terrible fucking haircut.

not that he’s old, per se, maybe late twenties, early thirties. definitely the youngest guy i’ve considered fucking in a while. what can i say? he has that well-kempt but sad look that makes me know he’s got money to blow, so long as i blow the right notes with him.

he’s probably a computer programmer or something boring like that. fuck, i hope he doesn’t want to talk about his job. i don’t know that i’m up to faking interest in programmer speak tonight. had to do it with an old regular of mine and it took all of my restraint not to brain the boring fucker with the whiskey bottle that always sat between us on the couch before we headed back to his room.

five minutes later, he returns with the beer, mentions something about how the bartender doesn’t seem too fond of me.

‘fuck that guy, he’s a fucking perv anyway. let’s get the fuck out of here.’ and with that, we take off into the night, me with the beer hidden under his coat.

—

by my third spoonful of the surprisingly potent heroin, sam’s got his tongue in my mouth and is trying to get my shirt off.

i decide to lay back and let him steer for a minute, hoping maybe that will keep him from wanting to talk about:

-his job.
-his mom, who i’m positive, by now, is totally dead.
-all these older guys who’ve fucked him and fucked him around and maybe contributed to making him the total weirdo i am starting to become aware of him being.

either way, the h is taking me to a point beyond giving a fuck, where i’m content to let him take my shirt off, lick my nipples, make some remark about how skinny i am.

it’s as he’s loosening my belt that i start to notice something’s wrong. i totally underestimated the strength of the h, and now feel like i’m going to be sick. probably my fault for mixing booze before i started into it.

‘fuck, i’m going to puke. get up! where’s the fucking bathroom?’

‘do it in my mouth; i like it.’

‘fuck you. where’s the fucking toilet?’

reluctantly, he lets me up, points to a darkened doorway at the far end of his open bedroom, in which i can see, faintly, the outline of a toilet next to a bathtub.

i take off, knowing from experience not to run, as it will make me throw up on the floor. i don’t want to give this guy the satisfaction of watching me throw up, especially since he ‘likes it.’

ugh. i’m shuddering just remembering him saying that.

make it to the bathroom, throw the door closed behind me and start vomiting. as i finish, i’m overcome with a deep feeling of hatred toward sam which i do my best to ignore, bury deep, so i can go back out and pretend to be into him some more.

—

‘what do you want to do tonight?’

we’re at sam’s. he’s been gone for about a week.

‘i don’t know, peter. what do you want to do tonight?’

we probably shouldn’t be here, but sam gave me a spare key after our fourth date.

‘i hate it when you do that.’

when he gave me his key, i thought it was because he loved me, as in, he cared about me.

‘do what?’

i figured out pretty quickly that it was more love like control than love like care.

‘when you take a question i asked you and ask me the same question. just say you don’t know. don’t make me feel like an asshole.’

‘sorry. i don’t know what i want to do tonight.’

‘do we have enough to order a pizza?’

‘i guess so.’ sam did leave us with a little spending cash before he left, and i know where he keeps his ATM card. can’t be too hard to figure out his PIN; he’s probably not stupid enough to use his own birthday, so i’ll bet it’s mommy-dearest’s.

‘oh! i know what we can do. let’s fuck the delivery guy from pizza bandit.’

‘…uh?’

‘you know, the one who went all cartoon-wolf-eyes when you took the pizza from him in yr shorts that one time. what’s his name? george?’

‘yeah. him. really? that’s what you want to do with a friday night?’ peter has this thing about watching me fuck strange guys, and this guy george is definitely strange. not just strange like ‘wants to fuck an adolescent boy or two,’ but genuinely strange. like, ‘probably has a body buried in his crawlspace’ strange.

but, whatever. i’m sure he won’t turn us down.

—

we met at a party. it was one of those church functions where some deacon or bishop, together with his once-hot wife and their five or more jügend, invites the members of the youth group and their parents over to his too-large house to swim in the pool, eat overcooked hot dogs and sing in a circle with youth pastor dave or phil or whoever. one of those things my mom insisted on dragging me to despite the fact that i’d never once shown an interest in the church youth group and was openly despised by some of its more prominent members.

he was the only other kid there who wasn’t partaking of the respite the pool offered from the summer heat, reclining in the shade of a large pine tree in a corner of the yard that, though not geometrically farthest from the house and the pool, was certainly the most isolated. he wore jeans and a too-large dress shirt, unbuttoned over a pavement t-shirt, and was reading what appeared from my position by the back gate (where i was attempting to sneak a couple rips off my pipe to make the socialization a little easier, or at least less tedious) to be a well-thumbed copy of ‘naked lunch.’

jesus, i remember thinking: this kid’s in, maybe, the fifth grade and he’s probably already cooler than i’ll ever be in my life.

i walked over and introduced myself by offering a hit off the flask i’d had an older friend steal for me and filled with whisky pilfered from my uncle’s liquor cabinet.

‘thanks. god, i hate these things. i’ve seen you around before. bobby, right?’

‘yeah. i’ve seen you too. yr dad’s a mechanic, right?’

‘yeah, when he isn’t drunk enough to beat the shit out of my mom or too drunk to get off the couch.’

‘um…’

‘don’t worry; i fucking hate the guy, but i’m not fishing for sympathy. name’s peter, by the way. and is that weed i smell on you?’

*

p.s. Hey. Well, I kind of laid out everything to do with the workshop above, so I’ll just add or reiterate, I guess, that I hope you guys, both d.l.s and normally silent readers, will consider saying something to Chris/Rewritedept about his work-in-progress this weekend. Anything, even a simple acknowledgement that you took the time to read his work, would mean a lot to him, and to the blog, and to me. All right, thank you! ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. My enormous pleasure, of course! ** Cobaltfram, Hey, John. Monday might be better for me than Wednesday. What’s your schedule, etc.? Long emails, what are those, ha ha? I think in the case of the request/threat about the ‘libelous’ stuff in the post, it was to help the subject matter, a once big porn star turned escort, continue to escort successfully without potential clients saying, But what about that less than appetizing stuff I read about you somewhere online? I read about that Dustin/’The Real World’ thing, but I think I stopped watching that show after, like, the second season. Bon weekend! ** Nicki, Hi. Perhaps. In any case, there won’t be any human genitalia to potentially get you in trouble. I don’t post as crazily, in the sex/porn realm here, as I used to years ago. Crazily in every other respect perhaps, but I’ve (temporarily?) lost interest in covering the foibles of Eastern European porn stars and all that sort of stuff, except for in the middle and last of the month. But, hey, I could go wild about that sort of thing again. You never know with me. I’ll read Michelle Pace’s piece this weekend, Thank you! Everyone, d.l. Nicki highly recommends something, and here she is via the magic of copy and paste to tell you herself, i.e. ‘I just wanted to share a link to a really important and well-written piece that a dear friend and colleague of mine, Michelle Pace, has written in The Conversation. Michelle’s a highly respected and well-known scholar of the Middle East and she’s spent many years speaking to individuals and communities in both Israel and Palestine, so she’s coming from that context with this piece.’ ** Steevee, Very nice interview with Mr. Linklater. Props. What a shame about that inadequate budget. Those sorts of posts were dying down in my feed too until yesterday. Now their post-ers have decided that they have the justification to continue at an even more abrasive pitch. ** Kier, Yeah, keester, ha ha. What a weird word for an ass. I’ve seen some very inexplicable terms for an ass in my life, but that one really doesn’t bear any resemblance to the thing it defines. I would do the donuts/coffee/’TP’ thing with you in the middle of the hell of summer, which, given my utter antipathy-meets-hatred of hot weather, says something. Exactly: the thing is often the mulch for the thing. Or something. That made sense right before I typed it. Indian food, slurp. I have brother who annoys me 24/7 to the point of no return. Hugs. My Friday was good. I gave Zac his b’day presents. He seemed to really like them. Then we had a big catch up meeting on all the film stuff we need to figure out, and we started figuring it. And we hung out. That’s the best. And then I actually wrote a few emails and did some diddly — but better than nothing — work on my novel. So yesterday wasn’t too shabby. What’s going on with your weekend? Are your arms back to being normal enough things to let you do most of what you wish? ** Sypha, Hi, man. ** Damien Ark, Hi, Damien! Iowa, interesting. Well, it’ll be good to be in a new locale then, won’t it? I’m sorry to hear about the oxy relapse. I’ve had friends go through that very thing, and it’s tough. But don’t let it speak to you persuasively. Remember how it’s interfering with you. Because, man, you really shouldn’t even think for a second about giving up writing. You’re really, really talented, and that’s a rare thing, and I can say as a writer myself that, if your love writing persists, having a life as a writer is a great thing, a gift in many, many ways. Especially if you’re at all ‘weird’, an outsider, a thinker and dreamer of things that most people do not understand, like I am, and like maybe you are too. Seriously, don’t let what you’re going right now pollute your belief in your writing, and, more than that, your love of writing. A love of writing is the key, the most important and only thing that keeps a writer being a writer, and, as I said, I really recommend having that talent and receptacle and way to communicate with the world in your life. I really can’t even imagine who or what I would have been without my writing. It’s a very scary thing to think about. Take good care, man. ** David Ehrenstein, A classicist about tats, that’s nice. I like that. I remember reading about Roberto Pompa in ‘Early Plastic’. That’s very sad to hear. My condolences, David. ** _Black_Acrylic, Excellent! Art101 progress at long last! That headline would suck me in like a maw. Cool. ** Kiddiepunk, Oh, wow, well, come on, what a gift to the blog, dude. And you did such perfect work on it. And I want one of your ltd. ed. zines. And, yes, we will see each very soon, no doubt about that. ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Thank you, thank you for the Merge fest recap. That was really, really fun to read. That is a surprise (to me) about Imperial Teen. I’ve never seen them live, but I’ve never felt more than so-so about their recorded output. Okay, I think I’ll def. see Superchunk if they get over here. ‘Almost as hyper’ is good enough for me. That’s really exciting about the Destroyer set. It sounds like he really went for it live. Every time I’ve seen him live, he has just kind of beefed up and simplified his stuff for the live context with a rock band backup, and it’s never been the sublime thing I’ve hoped for. But that’s sounds incredible. Wow. Thank you! How was your reading in … Baltimore, wasn’t it? My favorite Echo & the Bunnymen album. ‘Heaven Up Here’. That’s one of my all-time favorite albums. I love their first three albums. I like ‘Ocean Rain’, but I definitely don’t think its their masterpiece, as seems to be the general consensus. After that, it gets spottier. But the first three albums are incredible, I think. ** Aaron Mirkin, Hi, Aaron. Me too, about the can’t wait/edited thing. Yes, I would say it’s coming together even more beautifully than we had hoped. I mean, I guess we won’t really know until Zac starts editing it ‘cos that’s where it’s going to become what it will be since Zac’s work/genius is heavily involved in editing. But we’re very happy. Issues? Nothing substantial. I think probably just the usual issues that arise when trying to make a poetic/experimental film with a very low budget. We’ve had to shift gears and rewrite and reimagine things a lot, sometimes on set and in the moment, but that’s been nothing but exciting, really, and the changes always seem like improvements. Thank you for asking about that. How are you doing? How are you feeling? What work and what stage are you at in it right now? Cool that you met the great, so very great Derek McCormack! One of the language gods, in my opinion. That’s so great! Have a fine weekend. ** Misanthrope, Oh, wow, no, I was just being random and goofy. I’m definitely not following you, I don’t know about anybody else. I mean, not in person. Not from the shadows. Not from where you least expect it. Gosh, I don’t know. I feel like I’m both right and wrong simultaneously all the time. You have a b’day coming up! You want a b’day post? I’ll make you any post you want for your birthday within the realms of what the blog considers common decency. Name it. Seriously. That an interesting and complex paragraph, sir. I’m still rereading it in wonder and slight confusion, but let me take a flying leap and say, uh, yes, that’s one’s prerogative? What is this strangeness around you? You can’t say or even hint? Jello couldn’t possibly live up to how incredible it looks and feels to the touch and so on, but I like it. Sometimes. With whipped cream especially. Ooh. ** Rewritedept, It’s the man of the weekend! Thank you again for putting your work in this place’s light. I hope it goes really, really well. It can. It has. It should. Up to the fine folks around here, obviously. Favorite Brad Pitt movie, huh … Shit, I’m going to have to go check IMDb to remember what he’s in. Hold on. Oh, well, for me, ‘Tree of Life’, hands down. After that, uh, hm … I liked ‘Twelve Monkeys’. I’d like to see it again to make sure. My Friday was a very good one. Told Kier about it up there somewhere. No, I haven’t seen a show in ages. It sucks. Will remedy that. Have a really good weekend! I’ll see you in the comments section at the end of the weekend, my time. ** Right. Please do lend your considerable powers of reading, thinking, and typing to Rewritedept/Chris’s fiction piece this weekend. Thank you very much! See you, or, rather, him, in the comments late on Sunday, and I’ll see you back here from my usual berth on Monday.

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