I live alone in a ten by twelve-foot room. It's not as cramped as you might imagine. My building was constructed in the forties, so the ceilings are high, and since my bed is on stilts I can fit a nice, ugly futon underneath it. The futon mattress is covered in some sort of microfiber that causes painful bolts of static electricity to shoot into my hand whenever I touch the aluminum frame. Socks and jeans are strewn about the floor. I need to do laundry tomorrow, lest the hideous carpet be covered completely in dirty clothes. My "kitchen" consists of a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, and a very dangerous electric teapot. Next to the teapot is a copy of the complete works of Plato, which I have yet to crack open. I don't do much reading, which is perhaps odd for someone who aspires to be a writer. Then again, my aspirations are generally casual. Next to the fridge is an overlarge television, which I rarely use since most of my time is spent watching strange films on my computer. Accompanying the socks and jeans on the floor are some loose pieces of trash, casualties of my sloppy jump shot. My dresser, which has been painted over so many times in its nearly six decades that the drawers often stick closed, is crowned by a large medicine cabinet, in which I imagine many bottles have been hidden. Above the mirror is perhaps the most horrible lighting fixture ever installed in an occupied residence. The bulb, obscured by a very dirty, semi-opaque cover, is a sickening orange, which causes me to appear jaundiced when I look into the mirror. The light, which never provided adequate illumination, has a loose filament, which causes it to flicker constantly and noisily. Across from this light is a massive guitar amplifier, which doubles as a stepladder when I want to go to bed. Even as I type this, my desk is cluttered with various odds and ends. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of band-aids from treating my latest injury, several pieces of paper with adhesive tape on them which have fallen from the wall, a moldable eraser sculpted into the shape of a penis, pixie sticks, a button which proclaims that "Hispanics are the Future," and various electrical cables (I exclude my computer because it is currently sitting on my lap). Next to the desk is a small shelf, where my books and DVDs are kept. Perched on the edge are two carved wooden "house gods" from China. These were a gift from a friend of my mother's, who is an enthusiastic traveler. They are supposed to cast a protective spell over the home where they reside. So far this year I have not been murdered in my sleep, although I do not know if this could be considered evidence for the effectiveness of these statuettes. Their neighbor on the shelf is my Commander William T. Riker action figure, who has stuck with me since before I can remember. I look fondly up at him from my broken chair which at one time was very comfortable, but which now wobbles uncontrollably if I am not careful. My walls are adorned with various photos and several large posters. One portrays President Nixon as an avid bowler. But even with Tricky Dick to keep me company, I often find myself lonely here.
American History X (probably my favorite), Eternal Sunshine, The Big Lebowski, Rejected, Nacho Libre, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, The Terminal, Dumb and Dumber, Diamonds, Brokeback Mountain, Napoleon Dynamite, Clerks, Another Day in Paradise, Waking Life, Beauty and the Beast, Bowling for Columbine, High Fidelity, Waiting for Guffman, Edward Scissorhands, Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Office Space, Blazing Saddles, Back to the Future, I Heart Huckabees, Capote, Good Night and Good Luck, The 40 Year Old Virgin, Fantasia, The Marathon Man, Midnight Cowboy, Big Fish, Tommy Boy, The Matrix Trilogy, Kingpin, Bandits, The Princess Bride, The Jerk, A Goofy Movie, Vanilla Sky, Love Liza, The Royal Tenenbaums, Love Actually, Being John Malkovich, The Wizard of Oz, Garden State, Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, M, A Scanner Darkly, Little Miss Sunshine, Death Wish 3, The Wrath of Kahn, Wayne's World (1 and 2), Jarhead, Full Metal Jacket, The Punisher, Blue Velvet, The Dark Crystal, Heavyweights, Adaptation, Bubba Ho-Tep, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Rushmore, Annie Hall, The Adventures of Milo and Otis, Raging Bull, The Deer Hunter, Lost in Translation, Children of Men, Zodiac, The Prestige, Eastern Promises, any of the Muppets movies, The Darjeeling Limited, The Elephant Man, The People vs. Larry Flynt, The Fountain, Juno, No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, Blow, Play it Again, Sam, etc.
Bob Dylan, Beck, Radiohead, Nick Drake, Eels, Apocalyptica, Robotux, the Flaming Lips, Donovan, the Beatles, Sufjan Stevens, the Eagles, Ben Folds (Five), MC Hawking, Marvin Gaye, Leo Kottke, U2, Steven Lynch, Foo Fighters, Air, Mason Williams, William Shatner, Bela Fleck (and the Flecktones), Pink Floyd, Johnny Cash, Modest Mouse, Tupac Shakur, Sage Francis, David Bowie, the Doors, Patty Griffin, Patsy Cline, Ben Lee, Billie Holiday, Iron and Wine, Muddy Waters, Queen, the Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Ben Lee, Sheryl Crow (hahaha), Yo-Yo Ma, Yann Tiersen, the Black Keys, Cheap Trick, Barbara Morgenstern, Nick Drake, Seu Jorge, Robotux, Shaq, Interpol, The White Stripes, Sigur Ros, Cat Power, Regina Spektor, Death Cab for Cutie, Dio, Jim O'Rourke, Lou Reed, the Polyphonic Spree, Bruce Springsteen, Of Montreal, the Beach Boys, Miles Davis, Dexter Gordon, Devendra Banhart, Tom Jones, Elliott Smith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Prince, Bach, the Kinks, Coldplay, Dave Matthews (but only when he plays with Tim Reynolds), Ryuichi Sakamoto, Gustavo Santoalalla, Nick Cave, etc.
The Catcher in the Rye, Johnny Got His Gun, 1984, Fahrenheit 451, High Fidelity, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Giver (yeah yeah, I'm a fag), Hatchet, Napalm and Silly Putty, Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose, Of Mice and Men, The Metamorphosis, Staring at Sound, The Baby Jesus Butt Plug, The Children of Men, The Fire Next Time, If Chins Could Kill, etc.
"We all admire the spangled acrobat with classical grace meticulously walking his tight rope in the talcum light; but how much rarer art there is in the sagging rope expert wearing scarecrow clothes and impersonating a grotesque drunk! I should know." (Vladimir Nabokov) Thank you for your friendship! Musical greetings from Munich/Germany! Feel free to download my music!
posted Mar 9
Balm says:
posted Apr 5