Iris Janikowski.

Iris Janikowski.

If i saw you,

I'd throw myself at your feet and sob all over your shoes.

I never wanted to call you a fucking horseface.

I wasn't smart

when i asked you to slowdance holding your midsizedeighthgrade waist

and seeing your eyes briefly in mine,

i snickered to my friends.

there was a slendersilverhaired woman sippingwater in the evening diner

as her bigbald companion shovedbreadinhisface

all around us are so many things.

i am waiting for my wife to finish work,

she said she will take me to the zoo,

where it is happy.

my computer says 70 degrees,

Iris Janikowski isn't even on facebook.

and i've been anxious for weeks..

A Smile as Big as Ryan Gosling's

2 movies came into my view of late, one was produced by Hallmark, the other was apparently a replica of the GTA video game franchise.... One was adorned with mentally disabled kids, washed up actors from Sex and the City as well as a vast array of plotlines so soft they'd bounce off warm butter (a smile as big as the moon). Ryan Gosling's Drive wasn't much better, it bared the antithesis of a cast exuding star power including Ron Perlman's catcher mit of a face but lacked the "drive" to entertain anymore than a collage of cut-scenes off the next Rockstar release for your Xbox. First off, the sexcentric deer-eyed fox of a marketable man morsel, GOSLING, says up to 6-8 words seemingly throughout the entire film, allowing Malcom in the Middle's meth- making father Bryan Cranston (there's a picture of his nipple) add more to the dialogue than I liked. But seriously, this is an action film, it purges vengeance, spits silent machismo (Gosling channels Steve McQueen), desparate damsels, CARS THAT GO VRRROOOMM, stereotypical crime bosses, blood caked jackets, 80's like music (see GTA Vice City) , and see, a problem I have when I try to bitch about an over-hyped steriod-riddled beast of a blockbuster, I end up reselling it & making it sound too good. And I'm not going to lie anymore, both these movies are enjoyable on an idiot's level, I wanted to see if the mentally disabled class/cast could make it through the tribulations of space camp, I wanted to see if Ryan Gosling could protect the innocent lives of some frail blonde and her arabic (?) son. I sat upright when Gosling shanked & destroyed a man's face w/ a shower rod, I got wide-eyed when the bi-polar bear with a touch of down syndrome was able to construct a massive NASA model shuttle.
So there, I recommend both films, just don't expect anything more than explosive violence or subtle emotional movement in your bowels.

Stuff my bag holds.

I stole this from my friend over @ Roqnrwall, it's good to see he cut back to Sugar Free RedBull.

I'll start with the "delinquency notification" at the top of the photo. This was brought to my attention during an otherwise extremely jovial visit to my parents' house, I clearly remember my mother & I talking and laughing: "oh let me see what this is.." OH YOU GET AN AMBULANCE BILL FOR $775 FROM 3 YEARS AGO FROM THAT TIME THAT HUNGOVER POLLOCK DROVE HIS SEDAN INTO YOUR LEFT HIP & THE IMPACT WAS SO GREAT YOUR LEFT HIP SHATTERED HIS WINDSHIELD. Good, I'll pay that. When I feel like it.

Next, we have my latest (openly gay) journal, notebook, travel log, short story collector, sketchbook, recipe record, grocery list compilation.

Kurt Vonnegut's Look at Birdie. A solid publication of assorted tales reflecting Vonnegut's cynically satirical & perpetually clever voice. My wife picked up the hard copy for $6 at Unabridged, here are more of my useless thoughts on Vonnegut.

Hubert Selby Jr's Last Exit to Brooklyn. Yeah, so a new hobbie of mine is creating book clubs, and seeing how many I can actually create. Bottom line: NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU OR YOUR LITTLE BOOK CLUB. I should have 25 active book clubs by March. The word active alludes to me reading a book more often & feeling slightly better about myself. As for Selby Jr, this title is entertaining, graphic, and somehow slipped by my 4 eyes when I was passionately pouring over Beatnik literature 10 years ago.

Chrome bag. Love this. Bought it from an 18 year old stoner who openly was getting rid of it for $60 cause she openly needed an eighth. The bag is now an extension of my hairy little body.

Anonymous eyewear case that shall remain anonymous.

Pilot V5 Precise Writing Instrument. The pen of pens. I only write with this motherfucker. I've penned many recently unpublished masterpieces with this brand, including the widely unread favorites "First Love" & "The Little Dogs Laughed."

All purpose extra grip utility gloves. My father is batshit insane. He generally gives terrible presents. However, he did bestow these most excellent utility gloves onto me. I've moved furniture in them, crafted masterful snowballs, as well as look dexterous. They make me feel like I can operate cranes. Those very large ones.

Satirical Genius.

Escapisms. Kurt Vonnegut. King of quotes. Ruler of ruthless little jabs to society, cynical parodies, critical analogies, good hair, Pall-Malls, stellar little sketches, some sci-fi.

I was reading tributes & obituaries shortly after his death. Some guy whose dad new Vonnegut painted the best portrait, here we paraphrase it: I was very young, like 11, and Kurt was over at my house for Thanksgiving and he says: "Do you play chess?" I said I didn't know how. He gets out the board, and arranges the pieces by placing the pawns in the back, the kings & queens and all the valuable pieces in front. I knew enough to say that wasn't right. He says: "Why not? why should the pawns be so easily sacrificed?" That was Kurt Vonnegut.

This stuck in my skull. The pawns in the back. The king & all his merry men vulnerable, inanimate power pieces quaking, readily swept off the board without a bang but a wimper laying on the floor, discarded on the table. The dead pile of rich plastic monarchy. Kurt, I love you. I see how seemingly easy it was for you and I envy that. You are always a reliable escape I can take, reading your short fiction & little novels like you never left. Ting-a-ling motherfuckers.

“When the last living thing Has died on account of us,

How poetical it would be If Earth could say,

In a voice floating up Perhaps

From the floor Of the Grand Canyon,

"It is done. People did not like it here.”

Bad Movies (there's a lot of em)

Its somewhat sad when I state 1973's SSSS is a satisfactory cinematic piece to swallow. It proves for a good alliterative review as well as a before bed cheese-filled film to chuckle at. There is horror to be found in the near horrible, and the film appropriately named by 4 consecutive S's shows that modern day trash (ahem, The Devil Inside ahem) has a lot to learn from the enjoyable idiot flicks of yesteryear. Now take this into consideration, this sloppy blog used to be a decent haven for horror film recommendations, I used to take a tiny ounce of miniscule pride in what I did here (as you can see I didn't even try to properly align the German trailer at the beginning of the post) now, my half-assed horror reviews have all been demolished due to a cancelled Netflix account & a post-marriage filled lethargy that fuels the need to soak in a shit ton of poor cinema. These are some bedtime titles of recent fat winter nights (I shit you not):

1. Midnight in Paris (Woody Allen tackles literary figures w/ his trademark quirkiness and goddamn Owen Wilson).
2. Crazy Stupid Love (dramacomedyromancefunfuckinaffairforthewholefamily, I'd probably have sex w/ Ryan Gosling...thrice).
3. 2010's Atrocious (quite appropriately named mind you, see below).

This is a bloody cabinet. As a horror fan, this is not even the biggest, best, or bloodiest cabinet I have encountered. Should you take your time & $$ (I dropped an imbecilic $5.99 rental fee through ps3) to witness the blood in the cabinet? No. You should probably not. Should I waste your time in telling you this is one of the worst Spanish horror films I've seen in years? Or that the spoiled brat of a priviledged spanish cast makes the viewer crave their less than mediocre demise? No. What about the repetition of exhausted thematic sequences added to the shakiest of shaky-shakety shake-n-bake shaketastic cam style recordings- FAMILY FOUND DEAD. I THINK I SAW ONE SHAKING IN THE BLURRY RIGHT HAND CORNER OF THE SHAKY SCREEN THAT'S SHAKING. God, when's Rec 3 coming out?

Please feed the comment box with horror recommendations Brad & Bruno & maybe Anna if she reads this.....

the worst movie i have ever seen, the devil inside. by: vincent andrew sassana

This asshole made an asshole movie for assholes.... like myself.

the previews roll. gi-joe 4. underworld 16. denzel washington is a terrorist. ryan reynolds is a clean-cut ninja. buildings erupt in flames. a college boy uses telekinesis to fling a Jeep off a cliff. I subtly realize i'm fucked, as previews often foreshadow what's to come.. No, it wasn't the initial warning rottentomatoes gave: 6%, a rating that seemed to crumble with elapsed time: i swear i saw an 8%, another person claimed he saw 16%. The movie rolls. the main character is shit. Jodi throws a quarter of our popcorn in the air. the acting begins a downward spiral. a sadness starts to fester & swell in my chest. Jodi laughs at the film. a big St. Bernard jumps at the film crew who go to Rome to study excorcism. And that's what this was. A compilation of copious crap, from the horrific acting to the myriad of scenes the writer/director (smiling above) thought were clever. my popcorn lacked butter. the victims of demons inhabiting their bodies crawled on walls like peter parker, they moved things with their minds like X-Men.

A couple of assholes make an asshole movie about possessed assholes.

See, i've always been ultra-intrigued by excorcisms. Growing up Catholic, i've involuntarily embraced a conflicted notion of religion; and in turn, I am enthralled by the concept of demonic embodiment: is the soul really inhabited? Does some extreme notion of spiritual struggle captivate a schizophrenic and make them believe they are possessed? It is the subtle terror, the behind-closed-doors-notion of true darkness that fuels the fear, the interest, the potential terrible reality. BUT this movie parades the entire concept of spiritual entrapment like a bloody Jerry Bruckheimer film, it reels itself upon the screen as if it was constructed by an ADD ridden 13 year old unknowingly spitting on genre after genre, devoid of any depth or idea of psychology. Jodi checks her work email. I begin to read every detail printed on our Coca-Cola cup, the movie continues wasting my newly-wedded concept of time. And i came out the theater pissed off at the devil inside, the one that developed in the theater, a contagious byproduct of wretched cinema.

Scuzzy Must Have LPs.

Lots of good music has found its way to my waxy little attached ear lobes of late. Thee Oh Sees new album Carrion Crawler/The Dream is a strong 2nd lp of the year release if you don't mind 7 minute garagie canticles correctly called "crushed grass," "contraption/ soul desert," & "robber barons." Everything about Thee Oh Sees excellently exudes Thee Oh Sees. From their fuzzy fast-paced tempos to John Dwyer's yelps and "ah's" to their delightfully weird lyrics and their bassist's rapid trance-like neck contortions at an over-crowded Empty Bottle. To get started, one must cop/download/steal their above pictured album Help. Why? Cause it best defines them as the most pronounced and damn well fucking refined garage band out there. See?....



Ty Segall. What can I say about this guy? He crafts most excellent 2 minute blasts of stripped down naked-shuddering-spitting in your face from a dumpster rock songs. His live shows may not be as polished as the older aforementioned OCS, but his songs are rabidly catchy & infectious, and as his brand new SINGLES album is a profound work of short bursts & fuzzy greatness that I'm already audibly inhaling, one must begin with 2010's most memorable: Melted...


Although no longer "living," Jay Reatard and his Blood Visions (solo debuts ain't supposed to be this good) contend as a top garage rock full length of all time. Although I don't agree with schizophrenic/G.G. Allin/ape-like angst behaviorial traits such as peeing on your bass player mid-set, Mr. Reatard concocts some of the best pop songs of this genre. Oh, and there's an awesome documentary being put up & down on youtube as we speak...



Whether its King Khan's BBQ Show's Invisible Woman, or my personal fave: The Shrines' What Is?!, You're goin' to enjoy this Indo-Canadian's craftmanship of retro and dirtylittletunes. These albums help me walk faster to distasteful destinations like work. Besides a forgettable street festival performance last summer where his bandmate was reading sheet music and they decided to play a forgettable little set, most any Khan album is an agreeable one, like this one...

Although I kinda consider them elitists of this filthy genre, No Age has some must hear material like their Everything in Between Lp. They're distorted foggy post-punk album sounds like it was recorded in the depths of a dirty lake and fished out and assembled in a perfect blend of mature madness. Although only a two-man band, sometimes they sound like a slew of masterful musicians...

Although Keith Morris's project OFF! really doesn't fall into the garage rock circuit as much as it reflects hardcore punk's revitalization, who doesn't like to hear 44 second blasts of Keith screaming down your ear canal? His new band backs him up impeccably, and I can't help but make the semi-sacrilegious statement that I prefer these 4 angry men over the circle jerks..