A Return to Arms

"You can't buy a bag of peanuts in this town without someone writing a song about you."

So its a return to blogging and all things literary amateurish. I've written academically and I've written to friends for so long. Oh and lets not forget the all-conquering king of self-serving expression - the status update. Only god knows why, but now I return to anonynous expressions of blind bile and ecstatic truths. At least, thats what I'm aiming for.

Film pondering, male authenticity, self-loathing/public-loving, musical digestion, and just about anything else I decide is worthy of putting into words. Thats what shall happen.

The process of writing is some times the only true thing I can find to do. Even music and film and HBO are commodities that shift up and down in value far too often for any kind of reliability or consistency to mean much to me. I guess when you're in the mood for them, it can be something ineffably gorgeous and sweet (like bluegrass and skiffle bands) but when they're not the medicine you need and you're in search of a particular tonic that confirms all is real in the world and the disconnection you feel is not total - putting words down on paper never fails. Sometimes its just writing the same word over and over or seeing how often you can avoid vowels, but jesus god and allah - its real, and its burning fire, and its the light that fire produces that illuminates where once was dark.

So perhaps if that can be shared and if someone can know this/these about me... then what? Then maybe less of the disconnect and more of the barn stomping and belly-laughs, for you and for me. But jeez, really? Can it be as neat and tidy as the spray and wipe commercials say? As Jack White put it - "you can't be a pimp and a prostitute too". Lets just wait and see.

Perhaps there can be absolute salvation of a lost soul. At the very least, it will allow absolute salivation of this lost soul.

Thats something worth aiming for.