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The history of American crime…

“The history of American crime is choked with men who were raised right and whom wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

And with that presently homeless quote, I’d like to knock the dust off of ye blogge. Those words are (I think) going to be uttered by a detective whom in my mind is totally Samira Wiley and will likely be in reference to a guy named Rodie Walsh-Herrera who is a game developer accidentally dabbling in the occult.

So, yeah, I’ll be writing here more. At least weekly, if not more. It won’t just be me, me, me, though. Friends that do/make/say cool things will have a home here and I encourage them to reach out so I can share what they make. Seriously, I have great friends whose work is so good that if they weren’t friends, I’d still read/watch their shit but I’d also quietly make voodoo dolls of them to prick because I hate how much better they are so m—

I’ll also be going off about whatever TV, music, or books are currently rocking my world. At present those are:

The Jinx—one-third through and it’s mesmerizing and heartbreaking even though I know how it ends (I’m too stupid to stop looking at the Internet even when it’s the right thing to do.) It doesn’t matter; Robert Durst’s story and physical presence drops one’s jaw. There was at least one moment where I felt complete compassion for this utterly reprehensible man.

John Carpenter/Lost Themes—ground zero for those heavy elemental synth riffs that scream EIGHTIES to so many of us, leaving us giddy and stoked. Nostalgia is a helluva drug. So is marijuana, apparently, as I recently talked with a screenwriter friend of Carpenter’s who insists the man is a profound stoner who works totally off-the-cuff in both film and music. As the title suggests, these are orphaned pieces that might have made it into Carpenter’s films. Somehow they sound completely contemporary. Chalk this up to the parallel effects of an artist ahead of his time and an era shying from innovation.

Octavia Butler/Parable of the Sower—This book is nuts. It’s about a slow motion migration of a group of teens from Southern to Northern California (on FOOT) after/during a near-future societal collapse. It’s set in the mid-2020s in a time where shit has more than hit the fan relative to today—there’s complete murderous anarchy at every turn, social infrastructure is totally decayed for all but the richest, people fucking WALK on the 101—yet there’s still a faint whiff of order. There’s laws that people remind themselves to observe. People fighting for their physical survival still look for jobs. You can still go to “stores” that carry “goods.” She paints a scarily, depressingly plausible future and I find myself delaying finishing it because I’m too scared to see what she’s gonna be totally on-point about next.

That’s all for now. Like I said, I’ll be posting more often. See you again soon…

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