New Trump Ad Begs You to Call Him and Say 'Thank You, President Trump!'
might drop him a line and hit him with a few bars of this:Or the sun might rise high
On an orange kind of sky
But the day it seems too dark for me
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
U.S.A.! U.S.A.! vol. 153
Or the sun might rise high
On an orange kind of sky
But the day it seems too dark for me
Thursday, December 13, 2018
NERRRRRRRRD! vol. 74
A frighteningly focused man of many talents, passports and identities arrives at England's broken heart, a haunted midlands town that has collapsed to a black hole of dreams, only to find that that this new territory is as at least as strange and dangerous as he is. Attempting to locate a certain person and a certain artefact for his insistent client, he finds himself sinking in a quicksand twilight world of dead Lotharios, comatose sleeping beauties, Voodoo gangsters, masked adventurers, unlikely 1930s private eyes and violent chiaroscuro women... and this is Northampton when it's still awake. Once the town closes its eyes there is another world entirely going on beneath the twitching lids, a world of glittering and sinister delirium much worse than any social or economic devastation. Welcome to the British nightmare, with its gorgeous flesh, its tinsel and its luminous light-entertainment monsters; its hallucinatory austerity. Welcome to The Show.
Comics Legend Alan Moore Working on THE SHOW, His Own Radical and Progressive Film
Monday, December 10, 2018
Negation Aspiration vol. 127
From the journal entries, school assignments, an erstwhile screenplay involving pedophilia, education records, and psychiatrists’ reports spanning about 15 years of Lanza’s life, several parallel themes emerge, each moving inexorably toward the day when the emaciated loner, crippled by obsession, scornful of most other people, and fascinated by the human capacity for murder, committed his unspeakable act of violence. Some of the writings and psychoanalysis are dated. Many are not.
The documents released by the state police aren’t in chronological order and it’s unclear when Lanza wrote many of them. A number of them are unsigned, though several were downloaded from his computer where they had been stored on his desktop. Lanza removed the hard drives from his computer and smashed them to pieces. The FBI was tasked with trying to retrieve data.
One thing becomes clear as the additional records are examined — Adam Lanza, from the age of about 3 until he was 18, was never off the radar of people who orbited around him — his parents, the teachers and counselors in the schools he attended, the psychiatrists who later tried to figure out what was happening with him. It is evident now that no single person grasped the full picture of what he was becoming.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
Awwww Yeah vol. 93: The 2018 Stalker Victim Pageant Finalists
when i compiled last year's edition of this list, i had written that 2017 was a glue-varnished drunk dick attempting to port inside a sandpaper-gauzed vagina (paraphrasing). well here we are in 2018 (or as the history books will note; "2017 part 2: Ted Cruz Control") and yeah, no one is down for a pound, too preoccupied with trying to maintain a committed relationship with being sad forever because mean people suck or something.
so once again i must confection my own cruller, counting on the mystery idiot boxes for libidinal replenishment. here on the 10 smooshie wooshies who charmed the noose off me;
BARI WEISS:
like Camille Paglia only with the trollish provocations dialed way back and the warmth and humility dialed way up, Weiss handled the pedantically contrived outrage wrought forth by her prose with charm and grace.
FIONA DOURIFF:
the real Seed of Chucky, her cultish turn on the Purge TV series (fuck you i like that shit) really won me over.
HONEY GOLD:
like the daughter of Skin Diamond and Asa Akira came back from the future to see what her moms did. i either watch too much porn or watch too many CW superhero shows (i'll leave you to decide what's more adverse to my emotional maturity)
JANE LEVY:
Ms. Levy has been on my radar since I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore, where she was the Sadie to David Yow's Krug. her presence on the otherwise disappointing Castle Rock (yeah that's right, i liked The Purge more than Castle Rock. fight about it, scum) was a welcome one, and few things get my flows juicing quite like glasses, sweaters, and authorship.
MARTINA MARKOTA:
the right wing (eeew) performance artist (EEEEEWWWWW) caught my attention in one of my daily spelunkings into the depressingly ludicrous beta-caves of Alt-Right silly goosery. it's hard to deny her aesthetic gifts... but man is she a stupid dumb dumb who is dumb and stupid.
OLIVA LUCARDI:
between playing the Alice in the demented Lewis Carroll riff that was Channel Zero: Butcher's Block and being the Kiss-The-Ring of Death for her pimps on The Deuce, i'm still shocked that this is the same dead-inside screen junkie that i wished would get chewed up by the invisible VD monster of It Follows. ps: shout out to that Belladonna gap in the front teeth.
PROXY PAIGE:
The Debutante of Disgust. The Godiva of Grotesqueire. this bong-cadenced colon kissing roomy pink number brings down a shame-shanking like no other since the aforementioned Belladonna shat out baseball bat right into my heart.
SHEILA VAND:
Trent Hagga's 68 Kill was a tasty violent feast of tastelessly violent female supremacy, capturing everything i was too stupid to want in a woman for way too long. Sheila Vand crystallizes that ideal; a vampyric vulgarian in a GG Allin shirt whispering murderous intent over "Anal Sucking Fun" by Suicidal Rap Orgy. i'm so boring and safe now.
SU YUNG:
the creativley embattled Impact Wrestling finally turned a corner this year, and the delightfully dopey highlight was the saga of Su Yung; an oily Japanese ghost bride who locks opponents inside a coffin that transports their souls to Impact's Upside Down. wrestling is great.
TESSA THOMPSON:
of all the many things and people to love about Boots Riley's splendiferful Sorry To Bother You, Tessa Thompson wearing earrings that read "MURDER MURDER MURDER" and "KILL KILL KILL" may encapsulate it all.
We Are The Sprocket Holes vol. 340: Top 10 DVD/Blu-Rays of 2018
despite mainstream evidence pointing to the contrary, film is in a pretty interesting place creativley if you know where to look. instead of becoming emotionally overwrought over desperate attempts at cinematic universes, maybe give one of these a try;
CAT SICK BLUES (directed by Dave Jackson)
one of those rare breeds (inadvertent pun subliminally intended) of underground horror film that feels as if it was conceived by an individual who was in fact legitimately insane. the derangement runs bone deep, where you yourself are driven mad by the twin thoughts of "what could possibly compel someone to make this?" and "what could possibly compel someone to seek this out?".
FIRST REFORMED (directed by Paul Schrader)
an Eco-Apocalyptic spin on the tried-and-true concepts which Schrader has devoted his cinematic life to exploring.
HOUSEWIFE (directed by Can Evrenol)
Baskin auteur Evrenol returns with another viscera-clopped nether-ride into cosmic oblivion, this time swapping out the toxically masculine protagonists of Baskin with the harsh introspection of confined femininity.
INCIDENT IN A GHOSTLAND (directed by Pascal Laugier)
a densely-layered gothic home invasion fable that tracks like a particularly nightmarish paperback obscurity rendered in eye-slicing high-def.
MANDY (directed by Panos Cosmatos)
feels simultaneously like everything you've seen before and nothing you've seen before; an inter-dimensional bridge between revenge motivated actioners and psychotronic head scratchers.
MY FRIEND DAHMER (directed by Marc Meyers)
somewhere between the unflinching pathos of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and the suburban ennui of Ghost World.
PUPPET MASTER: THE LITTLEST REICH (directed by Tommy Wiklund, Sonny Laguna)
easiest way to make a reboot of a worn out franchise about murder toys worth a look? Fabio Frizzi + Benjamin Marra + Insect Warfare + Lt. Dangle + casual jabs at contemporary extremism + a vibe reminiscent of unsung contemporary Italian gore films like Violent Shit: The Movie and Morituris.
RENDEL: DARK VENGEANCE (directed by Jesse Haaja)
who knew that this Finnish curio of shamelessly thieved 1980s-90s superhero cliches was just what i needed to remind me of what initially drew me in to these kind of characters/stories? i make no secret or apologies for my love of the darker side of this mileau, and i'm thankful there's someone out there in movieland who when you say "X-Books" their mind goes not to Marvel's Deadpool but to Dark Horse's X.
REVENGE (directed by Coralie Fargeat)
a French film that looks like a Australian action movie with the gears of a Japanese pinky-violence epic working beneath its hood.
TRAUMA (directed by Lucio A Rojas)
Torture Porn at its most Torturously Pornographic, this invariably mean Chliean slice of who-gives-a-fuck-how-you-do might've just knocked A Serbian Film off the top perch on the Misanthropic Movie Night tree.
Monday, December 3, 2018
U.S.A.! U.S.A.! vol. 150
Cache details deterioration in relationship between far right activist and his former Gold Coast-based promoters
The FBI Watch List Book Club 2018 Recommendations
i realized that i'm a dog dick awful literary critic, so i did something a little different here and typed out sections from each book that i feel best capture the total of their intentions (or that i just found the most interesting). the authors say it better than i ever could. onward;
30 FAKE BEHEADINGS by Gary J. Shipley
example:
The longer i live through this film the less wisdom anyone has. and only how i masturbate in secret is a secret. When all my techniques are exhausted, i'll concoct a new formula from out collective memory loss. Still, here now, in this sequel, nobody lives forever on their own. But then the cruelty of inflicting immortality on the poor-and them, with the whole millennia of expertise at disappearing, and all of it suddenly gone to waste. And then, not wanting to leave for fear of missing anything, I piss my pants, and this immortality begins to stink, to hurt like a motherfucker, and together we form nine drowned lovers in a pond. Each has beautiful teeth and perfumed blood. the problem being; immortality's too fucking humbling by far. - from "Holy Mountain 2", pg. 35
BODY TO JOB by Christopher Zeischegg aka Danny Wylde
example:
The idea lived on in other people's minds. Those who knew me only by the hard cock they saw on screen. some believed my life was still the same. They said that i was still doing a good job (i.e., "keep it up"); that they wished their lives were so suffused with fun.
It was obnoxious, mostly. But then i remembered how I didn't used to fear spending time on useless ideas; how i blew all my extra money making work that existed in a vacuum. The works, and their practice, and since become hobbies. They were things i snuck away to.
I found the discussion of pornography as anything but conventional to be almost absurd. Yet I couldn't help but feel thankful toward those who made it clear that my profession wasn't real. Because i kept that somewhere inside of me, and i believed it every now and again. And though my memory was surely nostalgic, I remembered existing in some ethereal space where I could do what i wanted and might later "figure it out". - from "Afterlife: 12 Months After Retirement", pg. 189.
BOSUN + STUPID BABY by New Juche
example (Bosun):
This map is drawn from and inside my image, and will be lost, like a brittle seed-case fallen into the racing currents of Esk, as it flows down the right side of my splayed body, beneath the road and into the Abbey, under the stone bridges that once moved carts of medieval coal. The tarry piss in those red and green brick tanks laid out before the Leviathan seeps glacially downward too, into the vein that runs through the Betty Boop and the copse over the left side of my scalp, and joins with the Esk through the double-barreled tunnel that passes underneath my chest. This is surely why i had diarrhea so often. - from pg. 35.
example (Stupid Baby);
I remember very clearly the room in which Goong first jerked me off for money. I wanted very much to take her out of that room and at the same time to keep her inside it. The floor and walls of the room were completely tiled like a bathroom and illuminated harshly by a bare strip bulb. Although the room contained no sink or shower, tendrils of lime-scale and tea-coloured grime criss-crossed the walls like rotting fishnets. It smelt like a musty boiler-room and anal sex. I was no stranger to these squalid sex-hostels but i was incredulous that the staff had not even removed two used condoms and their wrappers that were stuck to the sheets. I'd never have expected them to change the sheet. I pulled off the sheet altogether and cast it into a corner. As i carefully took the finished cigarette from the corner of my mouth, Goong, in anticipation, pulled a large ceramic pot from under the bed. It was full of old condoms and rubbish fused into furry growths of matter. When my falling butt made contact it caused a plume of spores to mushroom out of this filth. I left the room for a shower, and then tried to summon an erection as i lay on the bare mattress waiting for Goong to return from hers. - from pg.22
THE DARKEST WEB by Eileen Ormsby
example:
What was disturbing was the appetite for viewing such material. Videos would turn up on websites dedicated to gore, with names like rotten.com, bestgore.com, and ogrish.com, that encouraged members to scour the web and find the most graphic and disturbing images and films possible of murders, suicides, torture, mutilations and accidents. The sites were competitive and tried to outdo each other with their depictions of real violence. They get millions of visitors, with the most graphic videos garnering hundreds of thousands of views and being shared widely among snuff sneekers.
People are provided the opportunity to comment on videos, and the lack of empathy, perhaps even psychopathy, evident in some comments is chilling.
This is a rip off.
You don't even get to see him die.
What fun is it if the victim is too drugged up to fight back?
I love the sound when the hammer goes in and then when he's trying to talk after lol.
Thats kinda cool... fucked but still awesome
I really don't care about the people he killed, I'm only sad about the kittens
This gave me an erection
Such incidents brought the snuff film closer to becoming a reality, but still nothing fit in with the popularly conceived notion of what a snuff film is. - from "Darkest: The internet and blurring the lines", pg. 255.
DREAMLAND TRASH by Dylan Krieger
example:
absence knows best
false eyes
found me out
i skin my rhyme
scheme from the ass down
rub a nickel
do a butterfly dive
outta the kitchen sink
when i was five
i burned my hymen
on a hanging
chandelier perhaps
half glass coffin
the only part i still
remember is the
part that fell away
btwn the heretical sheets
writhing like a centipede
ablaze in my ongoing
blazon about you i
say you're more
ram than lamb
more horny satanic
bleached rind on
the brambled path back
to unrighteous unconscious
i'm mixing myths again
but somewhere your head's
still full of serpents staring each
other down in the arid reflection
you find on the arc of the covenant's
surly gold surface disease realizing
after all this time you've actually
managed at long last to vampire
vanish ghost town evaporate
unlucky abduction disappear. - from pgs. 34 -35.
EVERYTHING TRUMP TOUCHES DIES by Rick Wilson
example:
The brightest, hottest, weirdest, shittiest star in the Trump constellation from the moment of The Donald's unexpected electoral victory was Steve Bannon. If you're looking for the white-hot center of Esoteric Trumpism, Bannon is its intellectual architect, once you get passed the homeless-drifter-with-a-hitchhiker's-head-in-his-backpack affect.
Bannon, a man who looks like the spokes model for a new line of gout medication, is know for his oddball sartorial choices; the multiple shirts, the tactical 'operator" pants, and the Barbour jacket are all hallmarks of his bus-shelter-chic style. Persistently rumpled, persistently grizzled, and persistently looking like he's been dragged over 30 miles of bad road, Bannon was no one's idea of the White House's dull but professional suit-and-tie culture. His rheumy-eyed stare and odd constellation of facial moles, warts, scrofula, weeping sores, and grizzled beard patches make him look vaguely piratical.
A devotee of the alt-right's favorite writers ("You haven't read Julius Evola in the original Italian? you're missing it all") and shoddy pop history like The Fourth Turning, Bannon is one of two types of DC intellectuals: the first type are nerds who have read everything and can't sell anything; the second is Bannon types who want you to think they've read everything and are out to sell themselves. - from "Chapter 14: Trump's Island of Misfit Toys - Steve Bannon", pg. 227.
INGRATITUDE by Peter Sotos
example:
It gets ugly, all this, it gets hard. It doesn't start out as ugly. Part of my recovery is that i know it will get uglier because of the way i keep remembering. This is what i do and what i want to do and that's why I'm supposed to change. Not can. There's no more qualification than, it must be obvious, it must be a problem then, that this, if not the best part of my time, is all i think about all of the time. - pg. 108.
LOST CONNECTIONS by Johann Hari
example:
You can survey people and ask them three things: are you lonely? are you depressed? are you anxious? Then you can match up the answers. If you do that, you always find that lonely people are much more likely to be depressed or anxious. But that doesn't get us very far - because depressed and anxious people often become afraid of the world, and of social interaction, so they tend to retreat from it. It could be that you become depressed first, and that in turn makes you lonely. But John suspected that it could possibly be the other way around - that if you become lonely, that might make you depressed. - from "Cause Two: Disconnection From Other People",, pg. 75.
MARTY PAGE by Martin Bladh
example:
We need to emphasize that this is not the Grand Guignol, and it has never been our intention to put on a titillating show in the Aristotelian sense. Our work is a deadlock which lacks catharsis. We have gradually become numb to aesthetic sensation. The stakes increase with time -
BODY COVERED WITH RED SPOTS - SUDDENLY TURN BLACKISH
HEAD BEGINS TO BOIL - GROWS OVERPOWERINGLY HEAVY -
COLLAPSES
fatigue - a centralized magnetic suction - molecules divided - drawn toward annihilation - from pg. 25
SWANS: SACRIFICE AND TRANSCENDENCE: AN ORAL HISTORY by Nick Soulsby + THE EGG by Michael Gira
example (Sacrifice and Transcendence):
LYDIA LUNCH: Mike Gira threatened to punch me, so i laughed in his face and told him to go ahead and do it, which is when he paid me one of the biggest compliments in my life: he told me i was "walking pornography"! I was writing for Forced Exposure, and he should have read my Pussy Galore review if he thought my review of The Burning World was harsh. I called it as i saw it, and i shouldn't be reviewing records by people i was friends with - I am a harsh critic. But i made it up to him. I thought The Consumer was one of the best books ever written - I think he forgave me after I wrote him a letter saying so. As someone who prides themselves on extremely fat-free music and writing, The Consumer was hugely impressive - there wasn't a stray word. Very few people achieve that because most people always plump things up. - from "8.0: Anonymous Bodies In An Empty Room: The Burning World 1988-89, pgs. 158-159.
example (The Egg):
12: His Name is Fuck
A succubus has come for me. I welcome her in my sleep. I very much want her to suffocate me. I want her tongue to wind down my throat. I want to taste the deadness of her breath, and i want it to fill my stomach. Lying on my back as she fucks me, my hands circle the sinuous ridges of her back and come away bloody. She calls my name as we work. Though the word is hot and wet as she presses it into my ear it sounds like it comes from an infinite distance. This word has traveled from some dead, utterly black region in space, somehow insinuated its way into her lifeless brain, then suffused my own mind with its poison, leaving me completely enslaved and irrevocably transformed. The word is fuck. My name is FUCK. - from pg. 59.
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