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re: Adult Swim: Aqua Teen Hunger Force/Sealab 2021/Family Guy/Futurama/The Venture Bros. - even the Japanese shit, but on a totally different level. I want the Adult Swim to go on & on & never stop --> book length. Keep their attention as long as possible. Can be anything --> the best is complete craziness & insanity. Keep it going & going & going. Never stop. Book-fucking-length! Ride the snake. Shoots & Ladders. Slip Slidin' Away. Just utter nonsense, page for page... constant. Not even commercials, even though they're done & good. No sense! The only question is, how do you do that? How do you keep that going? For a whole Book. They would read it so fast, yet travel so far. It would seem like hours, even days. But it'd only take about five, 10 minutes. Or maybe a couple hours. But quick. They wouldn't be going through it like going through Dante, but it would have that same breadth, that potion. It would be a journey... a long trip up a mountain & back down again. Huh? What's that supposed to mean? We're talkin' 180 to 220 pages. Big though, right? Stream, stream, stream. Talk all night. Yeah, that's it... a Book for a group: a couple, a menage, an orgy... but not necesarily sexual. Just a group, communal... like Hippies 'n' shit. A-laughin' & doin' drugs. "Yeehaw, it's a revolution, brother!" God damn, i can't write fast enough, steady enough. I gotta keep this up, though. And that's how they'd feel. Can't read it fast enough - not fast enough to be effective, or efficient for that matter. (aside) - [This is The Change. A lot for a little.] Hoo-rah, hoo-rah, sis-boom-ba! Maybe there'd be a musical accompaniament. Or whatever. A soundtrack for a book. Or a movie, but that's too obvious, too obvious a frame. Maybe we could incorporate a comedy act, a stand-up routine. And as much as i love George Carlin & Dennis Miller, it'd have to be somebody mindless. Like Dane Cook. But the music would have to be druggy, aciddy... doing shit, smokin', snortin'... whatever. It all leads to something --> that thing. That one thing. This. This one thing. You'll have to go away. Shit... people would be in transit. Everyone getting around. Changin' places, roles. Money changing hands... or just staying where it is. The scabs the scabs & the rich the rich. Sun City, S. Africa, Mandela & Steven Biko. We all know the story... but we weren't there. Little Stevie's gettin' old. Quick. It passes from consciousness. Reading & writing no longer matter, cos you no longer need to read or write ever again. Cos everything's already been said in this one document. An amazing adventure. But baby steps. Take it slow. Never question it. It becomes egalitarian. All the ducks in a row. The earth explodes & everybody goes up --> just like they're told to. The music, though. I think that's what music can do. Make CHANGES! In & out & out. Genre defining & destroying. What creation do we owe Music? Everything? Nothing? It's the all-encompassing. Musicality everywhere, in everyone. Accepting One Note, Pure & Easy, like a breathe, rippling by. "A luh, a lubba bubba bubba buh." (aside) - [This is good! (read tomorrow) <-- as if i'm not] You have to go off on tangents. The best of these books would need to be written in one take, no matter how long it takes. It could be a few hours if you can type/write/dictate fast enough. But for someone like me, who tends to like to write longhand, it could go on for days. People would have to feed me & get me Cokes & drugs. I'd be sweating & TV cameras would come in & follow my progress. I only hope this first one works out, cos i don't know how long i can keep this up tonight. And you? And the point i made before, about people needing, or not needing, i should say, to be able to read & write & stuff. An "old" classic, so to speak. But this, because this book would be the end all/be all of reading & writing. That's just metaphorical, like something somebody would say on one of those VH1 specials. Like talking about the most famous albums/songs/bands of all time. It's like, "The moment I heard London Calling by The Clash I knew music was over forever, cos nothing has/could/or ever will stand up to it. Just awesome... just awesome." Or, "There's rock & roll bands... then there's The Who." And where the pause (...) is, the guy gives the gayest little wink, that he just thinks is the coolest thing, but everyone watching is just like, "Oh my god, that's the gayest thing I've ever seen." Well, all of that is, like i said, metaphorical. You still have to write more books. 30 years down the road nobody's gonna even LIKE the book anymore, they'll just HAVE to have it in their collection, cos it's a status symbol. Just like having Joni Mitchell's Blue album. You don't like it, but it's such an "important" album you have to pretend to LOVE it. Or Carole King's Tapestry, except that actually is good. Very good, in fact. "Genre-defining", or something. Well, i'd have to keep going. Never to catch that fire again. The first one would be the best. Each subsequent one would be forced, not free. You'd realize it, but you'd lie to yourself. I've done it, christ! I know. You start taking two seperate goes & putting them together. Cos you wouldn't want to have to retreat to pre-this. It'd be absolute. Make absolute sense. Just a case of "forgetting your roots." Like i said, forced. And it'll show. Is this an indictment of this Site? Of course it is! What the hell do you think i'm doing this for? For myself? Christ, i can't remember the last time i did anything for myself. It hurts just to write. It's the end of my movie. You can't start & stop. Not till you're done. (aside) - [Was i talking about someone in a bath tub? Will i be able to read this? Hope so!] This could go on & on, like Tony Montana. I must be coming out of it. I'm letting it slip. Riding the snake to Safety Pit! Exchange for another, please. "Genre-defining". I can't stop thinking about it. I'm on a roll now, baby! Now we're cookin' with Crisco�. The Dark Horse, The Red Horse, The Black Horse? I need an outtake. The "liner notes", so to speak. Funky guitar riffs & 5.1 sound quality to boot. Riding on & on & on. Buckin' Bronco. My eyes burn, my hand aches. I gotta finish this, but then again, i don't. Am i really gonna curse myself out of this fucking masterpiece? Are you fucking kidding me? I'll fuck & suck every mother-fuck-ing last one of you. Rip-roarin' good times had by all. What the hell is he screaming about, anyway? See! I'm being taken over by the Music. That's what the Music will do to you. Making you forget you're on your way through the book so fucking fast. 25, 30 minutes, right? You'll start dancing & shit, like i just did, & get totally distracted. Pink flashes will keep you awake throughout the experiment. Cos that's what it is, right? An experiment. Sure. Then in 30 years, if all our kids end up having three legs, or, better yet - three eyes. That way two could focus on the main Book & the 3rd eye, if off to the side & not in the traditional Cyclops arrangement, would be concentrating on a separate book... or maybe a painting. We have an understanding, the two of us. Jesus! But that's not really gonna happen, that's a Carlin bit. See how i said earlier that Carlin's stand-up act wouldn't work, right? But i integrate it later. That's "poetic liscense" & shit. Right on, Brother Man! Do it, say it loud, I'm Black & I'm Proud. No, no. Don't let the Music take over. It's not even that great of a song, although very good. But even the mediocre is ball-grabbing fer shiznit (& i'm not talking J. Brown here). Oh, & the fame will come. The world will be my oyster sugar cube. And we did it all. Sex, drugs & Rock & Roll. Consume was the name of the game. And we consumed it all - food, drugs, drink, women (or, more importantly - wine, women & song). Even guys. And lives. Not intentionally, though. (aside) - [Hmmm... good band name - Oyster Sugar Cube.] "We can't keep up, we can't keep up." -Jewish settler Quick Note: Maybe there could be a TASTE involved. Odorous & "bitey". Knowin' just what to do. Just might get some sleep tonight. Or a taste. (stunned silence/pause) So, anyway... there i'd be, up on the shelf. Of course it's just a "book", but that's me in that book. I am that book & that book is me. Course, for a while "everybody who's anybody" will be reading the book on the beach. On vacay in Morocco or Mexico. (aside) - [All the books capitalized... right -->i'm writing myself notes.] The sound would be all-encompassing. Did i say that already? The Wall of Sound, Michael Jackson's 3-Dimensional Cow, Flaming Lips 5.1 kinda shit. Big orchestras... or Bob Dylan playing a guitar? Yes, with the harmonica holder. See, now i'm getting too personal. Too in. Too in the house. Or just, "HOUSE!" An inside joke is what i mean. Do i lose the readers here? Do i lose them on purpsose? Don't i lose them on purpose? Make them get all introspective & shit. 'N' shit. (aside) - [I gotta learn to write right handed. I mean left.] New page, new name, new face. No, not plastic surgery by some genius doctor who for some reason has "gone bad" & does operations for the bad guys so they can escape from Batman, or whoever, & take his girlfriend hostage, forcing him out of his cave & into his "suit", even though he had vowed to himself, internally, that he was, "Done with it, dude." Forever... & ever & ever. Nobody goes on as long as i do. Figuratively, of course. [insert penis joke here] That time i was taken by the motion & the experience, or how i experienced it. The lyrics would be non-sensical, also. They would spurt & sputter... come out in intervals. Nothing would make sense, but The Book would fill in the gaps. At least you'd think it would. That's what good little boys & girls would do --> what they're told. "Believe it! Lima Time!" "I've got nothing to say," you'd blubber out. "Well don't worry, good citizen. I am here to help." I say this very matter-of-factly, standing in my spandex super helper suit. A super hero. Blue spandex & a yellow cape that is flapping in the wind while i stand atop a bridge with my fist on my hip & staring off into the distance, obviously in deep thought about some precious problem facing the good citizens of this fine fucked up nation of ours. Run by idiots & shit-throwing Apes who know nothing except of their own wealth & greed. It drives them. Makes them strive to greatness. Push, push, push. Push the limits, push the envelope. As far as it will go. Our skies will rain fire, the furor of a thousand lost souls, banished to the desert to die like the dogs that own the fleas on their own back. I've got to stop, but i must keep going. "It was a pleasure to burn..." the night away. I'm losing the edge, but i must re-find it. Re-focus. My energies & such. Taking chances & staying up all night. Write, write, write. "A writer must write," a writer once said. Talent be damned, cos you already know i ain't got none. It's been pages & pages from here, in long hand. Wondering how this pen works. And the spaces. But, of course, the reader has only been reading for a few minutes. They haven't even reached into the glove box for their liscense & registration yet. That's how opposite of being far along they are. You know what i'm saying. I have to leave this now, but i can't. The Church bells are ringing & i have to meet them. Acknowledge. The Church of Rock & Roll! But that'll never do. You can't mix in Religion, even though you already squeezed in Politics [insert page # here]. A reference. Start, stall, start, stall. I'm the expansionist. I'm the one bending genders, not to mention genres. Yes, plur-ohwl, as the Brit would say. (Don't worry, the British are important in this crazy, hair-brained scheme of "ours", making this sentence pertinent later on, when i get to my "British Connection", so to speak. Now, of course, this may or may not happen.) But the tastiest parts would be the ones where i use the fuck & the shit. The provacative parts. Shit people talk about around the water cooler, but don't talk with their boss about. Not appropriate, not appropriate. Calm down the Little Ones. Background voices could be singing (humming?) along with the words you are reading. Or maybe different. That covers two of the three possibilities... & according to Meatwad, of ATHF & Cartoon Network/Adult Swim fame, "3 outta 4 ain't bad." Profound, to say the least. Of course, the least is the last thing i need to say. I'm breathing at such a rate as to make my heart palpitate. So bring it on. The music takes over yet again. This time Cat Stevens, which looks totally out of place, but does harken back to my Mitchell/King argument of, "formerly in this Book." Another Saturday Nite on a Wednesday. Circus & all, "ready to pop here honey." I'll pass, yet again. (aside) - [There was a little slo-mo section going on. Everything looked like it was going really slow, but the song didn't slow down, so in actuallity they played the song twice as fast & played the video at half speed.] And everything... the music taking over again. 5.1 coming out of two speakers. You lose something. I'm losing it. Losing my "edge". It's all a mystery. How do you keep it going? Do you take the drug again? Do you stop? Do you eat the light? If i could, i would. But they've all dissappeared. They're the ones who would've enjoyed this shit. They wanted it... no, they NEEDED it. That's only half a joke. There's truth in all sadness... even if it's a lie. I lied to them. I took from them. And in the end they left with me with nothing. It might have been right, justice, but give me a fucking break. How long must you go on like this? A flicker, a whisper & a slight breeze. How tall are you? Bring some up & bring some back. Back from the beach, in Cancun or Cozumel. This Book, off the shelf for the quick re-look. Try it out, give it a "test spin" once more. See what all the hoopla was about in the first place. Find a re-birth cos they have a I Love The 00's special on VH1 & everyone brings out The Book. This book. "Yeah, i remember that dude. He was fucked up! He was so political, so DEEP." Like the chick at the snack bar said. And a whole new generation will get into my stuff. They'll get into my "greatest hits" first. The "commercial" stuff. The stuff my agent wants the buying public to see/buy. But there will be diehards out there. People that are like i am personally with music. They'll want A Quick One & Sell Out, not just the blandest of bland 20th Century Masters bullshit. They'll wanna know how i got started. They'll go back to the Site & check it out... & everyone knows there is very little shit that's good up there right now. But people will sit in awe. This "new generation" that discovers me. They won't be the sons & daughters of the first generation to get into me, but the sons & daughters of just a few years later. Hence, these boys & girls will be getting into something hip when kids a couple years older are still being squares (the older kids will co-opt it later though, believe me). Anyway, they'll look back on the old stuff - what basically amounts to an Early Years album. Rough demos & alternate takes on life. A rebel scream, an atavistic adventure. It's dry, man. It's no good. We can't keep on like that. Milling & stalling. Pausing. Gotta keep goin'. Gotta keep on keepin' on 'n' shit. Like The Book. The Project i been tellin' ya about. But will i have the rights? Do i have rights? This isn't a political question. Will they say i can't air this as it was meant to be? A 2-disc Deluxe Edition. The Greatest Story Ever Told. The Book To End All Books, remember? Why does it matter? Keep it freaking. Any head'll tell ya, "that's where it's at." Friday night, comin' on supper time, in the space time, if you remember from before. The pen glides & you just keep on reading. I've run out of ideas & the last one's runnin' quite thin, gasping for air. They're worried about a fucking fish!?! Yep, watch the fucking donkey. Katy Bar The Door, cos shit's hittin' the fan & you are crappin' in my mouth & calling it a sunday. (aside) - [We're on to something! We. Wait, why did i say we?] Anyway, the keyboard's gotta a mullet & "23 Skidoo, i have a big pole!" I've gone "inside" again. Inside jokes. "Is she a real big girl?" No one knows. I don't even know anymore. They've taken over. Running me. Using me, just like i used the fuck outta them. Consume, consume, consume. Live the dream & you'll never have to die. You'll live on in harmony, on ground zero for the landing. Trick me, my Guard, my Master. Lead us into oblivion, you deadly whore. You will end us all & have only God to console. He won't care anymore. He hung up & lost interest last night. Don't re-read this during the intermission. On the platform are my old shoes & hat. Floating in a space beyond reality, but close enough to still be seen in the subway. Don't bother the original, he was clean enough. (aside) - [looks religious, actually political] The battle, the Mayor, McGovern & the Candidate. Tom Waits, Warren Zevon, Hunter S. Thompson & Bob Dylan walk into my mind to have a drink. One says to the other, "Blah, blah, blah," & "How do you do," & "Fuck you, too." It's all about going through the motions at this point --> 25 page minimum. NO! Maximum. Less is More? Less is this year's More? What an idiot thing to say. Please leave me be, this is genre-defining stuff, right? And on & on & on & so forth & what-have-you. Recognize what's out there yet? The music's blaring, the pages bleed from the speed at which you turn them, the video is playing on a huge big-screen that distorts the image cos it's made to be played on a 32" screen. But the driving force is the comedy routine. That's what drives it, the driving force. Did i say that already? Driving Force. "Will they ever stop driving me?" Keep focused! Work through these problems you're having. Assimilate. Be the straight gay guy. Be the white black. Fit in. Keep up with the Joneses. Not to mention the Jacksons & the Abduls. Melt, goddamnit! Eat the rich & shit the middle man. Play through the pain. Laugh in the rain. Come by train, down the drain. Relive the strain. Shoot the vein. Let the good times wane. Tell them you're insane & they're just gonna have to deal with it. Get up, stand up. "World" stuff. I guess my 15 minutes are coming to a close. I'm washed up in the time it takes to read this shit. Ooops, i'm sorry - don't tell. Let the reader use his/her imagination. Fuck that! If that was the case, why even write The Book? If everyone's just gonna take it & make it into their own, why don't they just write their own goddamn book? It's in them. It has to be, or it wouldn't be an issue, right? That means we're all artists, pioneers. Maybe some people just need help bringing it out. But then again, this wrecks my, next generation discovers me/The Book angle, since there would be no "go back". One read would be plenty. Or less. In fact, it'd probably even be better for them to stop before this piont, when i began trying to explain "the ways". This was an experiment though... correct? Of course as much. Try, try again. Sprout new wings & fly off in a different direction. Actions are pointless at this juncture & music has completely taken over my inate sense of Right & Wrong. What am i to do, Damsel of Distress? [The crowd erupts in cheers (audio track)] |