So I will have the last week or so back-posted probably tomorrow. . .
In other news I picked up "Stand Still like the Hummingbird" a wonderful collection of Henry Miller's short essays on life, writing, painting, art, money, and more. I recommend it for all you Miller fans out there.
1)I have not posted in a few days due to a Prebo family crisis that shall remain un-named at this current juncture.
2)The line work on my half sleeve is done and pictures will be posted soon.
3)My love for you is like a truck, Berserker.
4)I will have a bunch of back posts up soon to fill you all in on my trials and tribulations.
A few months ago the Lakota Sioux seceded from the United States and claimed all treaties null and void. I am happy for the Sioux, as so many tribes have been treated poorly for the past 2 centuries, but I am worried that this could end up being another "Wounded Knee." Only this time the technology is more advanced and there is live news feeds.
So far it looks as though nothing has happened to the Sioux who have seceded. Maybe the government is scared. Or, maybe I just can't find the newest news about the situation. Keep me updated and correct me if any of this information is wrong. I don't think it is, as I have been doing research, but I thought I would through that out.
I finally picked up "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and I have to say so far it is good.
I always had the idea that the book would be some sort of "New Age" Zen Buddhist Jack-Me-Off-To-Death bullshit novel that people read because Oprah recommended it to them. I thought it would be a book full of stupid maxims about life that idiots could pass off as philosophy. Turns out I was wrong. At least I've been wrong for the first half of the book.
So far the book centers around two things: The journey a man, his son, and two of his friends take across the US on motorcycles; and secondly the nature of reason and the dilemma of modern man.
Robert Pirsig has a style not unlike Kerouac, but without the sex and run-on sentences. His writing is cleaver, and never dull, though many times deeply introspective. The characters don't so much develop (aside from the main character) as blunder through the vastness of the American Great Plains with fear and trepidation.
I will keep you updated on my progress and give you a final ascertation of the novel. But, right now I believe it will keep getting better. Only reading it will tell.
After finishing Job I would say "Read this fucking book as quick as possible." Inventive, imaginative, and spectacularily written are only a few things I could say about this book. If you know me, I just might lend you a copy. Or buy you one.
For the past few months I have not read very many novels, books, magazines, or anything besides emails and the Sunday comics. Usually, at these most desperate times of literary lacking, I pick up a novel that I have been meaning to read for a considerably long time. I am near finished with the book "Job: A Comedy of Justice" by Robert Heinlein, which is one of these books; a book that gets me back in the swing of reading.
I first purchased the book in one of my Heinlein kicks, about 3 or 4 years ago. I read a vast majority of the books that I had bought (Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, Double Star, Red Planet, Assignment Eternity, Farnham's Freehold, Friday, Time Enough For Love, and The Cat Who Walks Through Wall to name a few{Heinlein wrote at least 50 books}), but every time I went to pick up Job, I could not do it. I would look at the cover for hours, I would read the blurb, I would get so far as to read the publication information and about the author. But, no matter how much I tried, I would not read the book.
I am happy to say, with about 50 pages to go, it is one of Heinlein's finest novels. It is both funny and cathardic; it is joyous and sad. It is a novel that addresses religion, taboos and human's preconcieved notions about life. In many ways these are common themes for Heinlein;s later works, including Friday and Time Enough For Love, but there is somethings else that sets this book apart.
One reason being the main character is an Evangelical Christian Preacher from another dimension. The second is because the book centers around Armageddeon (see also: The Rapture, Ragnarok, Judgement Day) or at least the ever present threat of the end. But more than that the book is about love and sex and everything that makes life so wonderful to live.
So, in conclusion, read this book and/or anything written by Robert A. Heinlein. Trust me.
P.S. if you read "Stranger in a Strange Land" (probably his best book) read the "Unexpurgated Version" with the forward by his wife. It has 60,000 more words than the first publication, and each one of them count.
I have been working too hard lately. Not that I mind it that much, but I am beginning to feel a bit burned out. Between Mainstay, The Red Lion, and SCCtv I have next to no time for myself. Furthermore, I am trying to make a documentary and continue writing films. AND on top of that I am hoping I will be able to work on "The Warren Report" T.V. show again.
So, what does a guy have to do to get everything done? There is the Maxim "there are 24 usable hours in a day." But a guy has to sleep, right? The answer being yes, and no. I try to sleep and catch up with it as much as I can, but to work like I have been these past few weeks it means a major sacrifice in the sleep department.
I don't feel too bad about loosing sleep, though. I mean I am groggy and tired a lot, but it was the same way for me in film school. I am more productive if I am getting no sleep. How does that work? I don't know. It just does. One of my instructors in film school was also an insomniac like me. What did she do with her abundant creativity and lack of sleep? Direct the film "Sweet Crude," a documentary on the oil crisis in the Niger delta. I only hope I can produce at least one film that requires that much devotion and is that meaningful.
I guess time will tell.
Sewer
Last night I dreamed I was sick, viens cut
no blood poured out
each wound was full of my blood
clotted like chocolate meat
I pulled and pushed and spurted
the sickly clot from my vien
it burst from my shoulder
the pain and waste
shooting forth and
I felt as though I were dying
the vien broke and I tried
to fix it
like a bad spice my father
would make on Christmas tree lights
I feared for my life, and felt
the cold grip of death
as I woke in fridgid sweat
Milling about
The Flim-Flam Man
with his bowler hat
addorned with pheasent feather
shouted mighty successes
at mediocre masses
of hopeful authors
Drawn Unto You
i bleed for you
my dear; my darling
like the love of a
paper birch
my life spilling out
through every crack
in my bark
i need for you
my dear; my darling
with the need of a
withdrawl ridden junkie
guts and bile spilling
to show every ounce
of my ache
i want for you
my dear; my darling
like the want of a
teenage boy
my body's needs
throbbing through every inch
of my soul
i die for you
my dear; my darling
like we die to each other
everyday
and each time you are
sweet stranger
of my heart
Seems lately I've been bitten by the poetry bug. Good news for me, bad news for poetry. Hope you enjoyed. Peace out.
