venting What are you doing here?: venting
By Blindswine on Thursday, May 21, 1998 - 03:57 pm:
    I've been having strange, disturbing dreams recently… dreams based in reality, but fused with the subconscious… the delineation between my conscious and unconscious states seems blurry at best these days… somehow I feel like I'm moving through the world like a zombie through the murky fog… or, more accurately, like a flesh-manifest ghost hopped-up on robotussin cocktails; I bear witness to the fact that my existence has become like a self-inflicted gunshot wound, but I can't bring myself to give a shit anymore.

    Apathy and lethargia…

    I guess I could fight against this and work to change, but I just don't have the energy…

    Resistance (existence) is futile…

    Fuck it.

    So is melodrama.

    Last night I dreamt I was wandering through some nightmare city… an unholy merger of NYC and Seattle where the monoliths of the world trade center stood in contrast to the outdated-novelty space-needle.

    The space needle is this big prick that touched the sky--an ithyphallic monument poking into the ether; hard as steel and ready to squirt. You ride the elevator up the shaft, revolve around the head, maybe go out on the balcony to enjoy the view and stroke the glans… after shelling out for overpriced drinks and mediocre food, you realize that the skydick doesn't quite respect your boundaries and limitations; you were only looking for a little touch and play, but now you're down on the floor with your ankles behind your ears…

    You'd be better off staying home and having tantric sex with yourself.

    In my dream I am wandering around the base of the sky-dick -- right by the balls. There was an old-fashioned NY style deli there with neon lights and a leopard skin clad vixen dancing in a cage suspended from the shaft… at first I am alone; then E. appears carrying a sack full of beer and a stuffed armadillo he calls "roadkill".
    We sit, drink, and watch. Then we go inside.
    It's Mark Thomas.
    He's the proprietor.
    He's working the room like a slick Vegas floor-manager handing out comps, nickel-smiles, and blowing kisses at the more attractive clientele… at one point he's wearing a shark-skin suit with alligator boots… later he's styling in a designer-cut bowling shirt with the name "Sorabji" over the breast pocket. (this must have been true inspiration; I can tell from the office-cam that mark definitely needs to own a shirt like this)
    E, and I are sitting in the corner, drinking the beer we brought in, munching on the free peanuts, and shooting spitballs at the cage-girls. Mark comes by sneering… he's pissed. He takes us by the shirt-collar and throws us out for "disturbing the customers". When I look back he's in the doorway of the deli, hands on hips, tapping his foot… that's when I notice that he's no longer wearing alligator boots; he's got feet like a pig.
    He winks at us and retreats into the deli.

    I can't remember the rest of the dream…
    Just that E. keeps telling me that I'm a "misunderstood misanthrope" and that I should work that rap cuz "chicks dig it".
    Of course, E. tells me that shit every time I see him. Last year E. changed careers to become a flight attendant strictly because he figured the rarity of straight, male flight attendants would increase his chances of knocking boots with his female counterparts. (he was right-- but most of the time monkeyboy is completely full of shit.)
    I'm not a misanthrope… maybe a bit detached…
    It's not like I've gotta be misanthropic to get laid, anyway.

    Where was I going with this?
    I dunno… but rambling feels good…
    I guess that's why I find these "post" sites useful…

    Venting, Whining, Bitching, and Moaning to the internet beats the hell out of doing it in person…


    I feel much better now.


By R.C. on Thursday, May 21, 1998 - 06:07 pm:
    Your tab is $626.37 And no/we don't take credit cards -- the satellite is down. However/the House is ameanable to taking it out in trade...

    Yr dream abt Mark is a story in search of a screenplay. October films wd KILL for something like that! So wd Miramax. It's abt time somebody crossed the line from computer-gamed-virtual reality to flesh-&- blood & dreamscapes-replete- with-phallic- symbols celluloid reality. So get to writin'!

By T-kay on Friday, May 22, 1998 - 12:15 am:
    i agree--studios would love that. Of course,being raised by a VERY pro-feminist mother,
    she would have all sortd of things to say about your dream. But me,having had
    some "doozies"of my own leave you with this:
    if you can't figure out exactly what it means, give it some time, and all will become clear. tk

By R.C. on Friday, May 22, 1998 - 12:57 am:
    We don't need no stinkin' interpretations!

    Truly TK -- 'Swine cd bust out & become the new David Lynch with that dream. I'll bet Lynch didn't know what the hell 'Blue Velvet" meant in 1986. But they let him make it anyway. Then 11 years later/he makes another movie that no one can figure out ('Lost Highway'). 'Swine can play it all artsy-intellectual & make the suits feel too intimidated to ask him "So what the hell is this story about?"

By Blindswine on Friday, May 22, 1998 - 04:55 pm:

    <<if you can't figure out exactly what it means, give it some time,
    and all will become clear.>>

    tk, if every one of my bizarre dreams has seem kind of meaningful insight to my psyche, then i must be one screwed-up lunatic muhfucka...

    (which very well may be the case...)

    As far as being the next "David Lynch", i dunno... that's kind of a dubious distinction as far as i'm concerned. although i dug "blue velvet", by the time i finished watching "lost highway", i wanted to form an angry posse and go hunt that non-linear psuedo-art snake-charmer down.

    i still have no idea what that shit was all about, why i sat through the whole thing, or what the fuck was going through mr. lynch's head...

    actually, i take that back. i'm sure i know what was going through dave's head.


    and after watching it, i wanted my damn green back, too.

    i'm much more interested in using base imagery in order to construct a commentary about any subject at hand... kind of like some of those old cartoons from the 50's; at first glance it appears to be something common or basic, but with closer examination you see an underlying concept that is far more complex and that speaks to you in human terms.

    i think there is a possibility that mr. lynch started out with similar goals, but somehow he totally lost the thread and fell into the rut of creating fascinating but meaningless images. it's one thing to be clever about storytelling and make your audience work in order to fully appreciate your art, but to eschew storytelling altogether in favor of empty art-house posturing is something which i find dull... if not annoying.

    although i have to give props to lynch if he meant that film as some kind of practical joke on his art-house followers-- out in seattle, the pallid black-clad contingency were ruminating about that shit for months by the time I left… and they're probably still blathering about it to this very day.

    Anyway, maybe there is some point to "Lost Highway" that I'm either too dull or unsophisticated to see…

    But I doubt it.

    Like my man raekwan says,

    "I deal in mathematics,
    and that shit just don't add up."

By Sarah on Tuesday, May 26, 1998 - 05:11 pm:
    i guarantee if you watch Wild At Heart 15 times (not in a row) you will not only adore David Lynch, but you will understand his genius. it's one of the best movies ever made.

    as for your dreams, all i can say is, enjoy them while they're still delightfully disturbing. i have a dreadful feeling that as we get older, we start dreaming about things like M.A.S.H. reruns or dental floss.

By R.C. on Wednesday, May 27, 1998 - 12:54 am:
    And monthly maintenance fees. And whether to cash in one of yr CD's for an Austin Healy or laser surgery to celebrate yr midlife crisis.

By R.C. on Wednesday, May 27, 1998 - 12:54 am:
    And monthly maintenance fees. And whether to cash in one of yr CD's for an Austin Healy or laser surgery to celebrate yr midlife crisis.

By Help Mr. Blindswine please on Wednesday, May 27, 1998 - 10:09 am:
    I would like to know more about the "Pallid black-clad contingency".. . . . what the heck is that all about. I've heard Johnny Cash's angle but Please Mr. Blindswine, let me know. ONe fellow that I know that fits that description tells me that methadone makes guys looks good . . . "gives that 'Goth' look". . . . wot the heck?@!!%% but it makes chicks look bad. Please shed some light onto where this guy is coming from. . . . I have no clue.
    Thanking you in advance. . . .

    an olive-complexioned Creole type from the South

By Blindswine on Wednesday, May 27, 1998 - 03:16 pm:
    being a dark chestnut-brown complexioned first-generation american/west-indian type who doesn't play with synthetic narcotics, i can't tell you too much about the beneficial qualities of methadone in respect to attaining the "goth look"....

    but i'll tell you this:
    in the city of seattle there is a district called "capital hill" where the pallid black-clad contingency gather to do whatever it is that such folk do; I rarely see them doing anything outside of sitting in bars and bookstores looking… well, vapid. I know this guy named j. who says that it is a "philosophy of perspective" whatever the fuck that means. j. is pallid, dresses in all black, is prone to melodrama, and has problems deciding whether he's straight, gay, or bisexual on any given day.

    He's a pain in the ass.

    He often talks about wanting to try heroin because he is "enamored with the idea of bedding with death"

    See what I mean?

    This concept of "image over substance" is something that I am pretty much diametrically opposed to… there is nothing there…

    One day, I turned to j. and told him that he was "consumed by his own emptiness". He smiled at me, nodding in approval and said, "see, now you've got it…."

    Got what?

    I dunno.

    I'm probably not being too clear about this, but I'm all hopped up on robotussin and still reeling from my memorial day mishap…

    Write to

    j. will be more then glad to blather on incessantly about being pallid and wearing black.

By Antigone - Alpha Bubba of the Universe on Thursday, May 28, 1998 - 04:35 pm:
    j doesn't have to strive to bed with death. He'll get to eventually.

By Blindswine on Thursday, May 28, 1998 - 06:18 pm:
    yeah, bubba... i been tellin' 'im the same fer ages but that boy juss don' listen.

By Sheila on Thursday, May 28, 1998 - 09:00 pm:
    None of you ever went through that phase/phrase?

By Pet on Saturday, May 30, 1998 - 02:17 am:
    Memorial Day mishap?
    see what happens when you don't check in regularly? I may never know unless I stumble upon it somewheresssssss.....

    can i go to bed now?

By Ali3npr0b3 on Saturday, May 30, 1998 - 04:20 pm:
    If you change your name to "Death" you can probably go to be with j.

By Pet on Sunday, May 31, 1998 - 09:10 pm:
    thanks, but, thanks. I prefer my freaks to be normal.....

By Megan on Friday, June 19, 1998 - 01:58 pm:
    What am I doing,not a thing. Actually I am venting all the agrivation of the last week to conclude another wonderful chapter to my wonderful life. I really need help!!

By TRIP on Tuesday, June 23, 1998 - 04:01 am:
    just another shitty day in paradise. Went to try and find out where a number I got for a payphone was actually located at, but no luck.If you can help, e-mail me at with info, it would be appreciated. My kids are close to this #, and I would like to see them, as my ole lady decided to snatch them and now wont tell where they are....
    lost in the sand,

By Kelsey on Tuesday, June 23, 1998 - 03:24 pm:
    wow. that sucks. there's gotta be more to that story.

By THA STAMP on Wednesday, October 14, 1998 - 02:20 pm:


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