Mascara on a man misleadingly bespeaks pursuit beyond the heterosexual, though it is more likely a tool to extend the outward expression of eccentricity in rapacious defiance of the status quo, or so I contend in feeling occasionally motivated toward accents of artifice ( Read more... )

The Transporter, The Transporter 2, Drive Me Crazy, and Children of Men, which contains figurative elements that, as scrupulous observation enables interpretation, adds a postmodern stratum that brings new depth to the overarching message through inventive use of the medium and provides a twist to what seems like a straightforward conclusion ( Read more... )

The men downstairs, of exotic import, are barking in duck-like rhythms like aliens in a Tim Burton movie. Someone in my building is smoking pot, and I light incense and a sea breeze candle and sip tea against the silken straps of night ( Read more... )

I tried something new and it was amazing. I want to do it again ( Read more... )

A swath of blood is smeared across the door to my apartment building where the medics escorted my neighbor after the police shot him for resisting arrest. Despite a restraining order, he returned at 1:30 a.m. in an angry mood to demand custody of his daughter from the ex-girlfriend who fled her apartment to make a frantic phone call to the police ( Read more... )

One can aspire to the level of amicus curiae in the midst of psychosis, which is the most likely accomplice to assist the realization of ambition.

Ponette, Kiki's Delivery Service, The City of Lost Children, Bottle Rocket, The Fountain

Yo! **thwap** **thwap** Open the door! **thwap**

And so begins my Sunday at 3:33 a.m. It is not my door that is being hammered upon, but the apartment adjacent to mine.

Open up, man! **thwap** If you don't... I stumble from bed, slip into clothes, and head toward the commotion. Through the keyhole I see a uniformed officer, baton drawn, escorting ( Read more... )

While running by the river tonight, I was nearly hit by a police car speeding down the empty Sunday streets through a red light to go to Rofo where, passing by, I paused to watch the officer pour himself a cup of coffee through the green-trimmed window. No one believes me when I explain that the cops are more dangerous than the boorish locals in ( Read more... )

Hang one's face over a flame and be surprised when it does not burn. A shower curtain from a tropical mountain apartment was replaced by a likeness with translucent squares that shift in the blue lights from wireless speakers that speak trippy patterns like an orgiastic math problem, unveiling a pleasant darkness determined by tropical aromatics, ( Read more... )

The occasions on which I command eloquence are often marked by the recitation of a gossamer longing extracted from faraway poetry or melancholic observations of epistemological flavor-cerebral tonguing through unread pages composed with the hope of affecting another, summoned later for a different purpose than that of their conception ( Read more... )