This one does not advance the plot but it's pretty cool anyhow

Okay there was this song in the back of my head sometime halfway through High School I'd say circa 1996 or thereabouts and I'd asked Dennis about it since he was the big kahuna, know-it-all, when it came to '80s tunes but fact is I could barely recall the melody, let alone the words. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said to me, or something to that effect.

And now, mean right this second, here in this braindead future that 2011 has gone on to become I'm sitting at the office doing some crap job or whatever and very half-assedly so, and Pat Benatar is singing Sex as a Weapon in my headphones and... that's it. The song I was trying to recall in '96. Total recall. Right there. Right here. Right now.

Snoopy the author reaches nowhere

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed the Rosenbergs. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times and it was also a dark, stormy night and from where I'm standing I can pretty much see Snoopy sitting atop his red-roofed doghouse typing well into the late hours without stopping but actually reaching nowhere.
I have this writer's block thing going at the present hence the idiotic start for this post and incidentally maybe she did do it because she had a writer's block. Food for thought there. Just don't attempt to pre-heat it in the oven. Hah!
Drum roll--- then new paragraph.

I'm supposed to be working right now. No scratch that: I am at work but truth be told I'm doing a terrific job in procrastinating and frantically pleading for my muse to present herself and give me some great top-notch writing but in lieu of Calliope all I got is some mid-1980s synthpop going on the iPod.
Was that an intentional double entendre? Oh it was and it so sucked!!
OK, once more--- drum roll--- then new paragraph.

Gonna begin reading a new book today, Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow and it kind of scares me a little. Well not scare but thing is there's a couple of books of his I'd read a while back--- those were V. and The Crying of Lot 49--- and if you want me to be completely honest with you I have no idea what I got from those two books. Pynchon's works scare me witless because I have no idea what's going on most of the time, and the times I do get what's going on I simply don't understand it. Kind of prone to obscure, unclear referencing, that guy. Well, like myself with the Sylvia Plath jokes really.
Yeah, now I guess I've just compared my writing to Thomas Pynchon's. This post of mine is most certainly not going too well: Drum roll--- then new paragraph.

Ohh I’ve just thought of something else too: Superhero costumes.
Here’s a very good reason as to why comic book superhero costumes are skintight: They’re compression suits. You know? Like those suits athletes use to improve performance? That’s it, right there. Positively brilliant.


And that’s it for today: Drum roll--- and out.

The "Dog carcass in alley this morning" post

Ever woke up with that feeelin of "Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach" ringing in the back of your head? You know, like a carrion bird awaiting for food? That ominous nagging feeling of dread with no reasonable explanation or reason? when even the sugarless coffee tastes bitter than you'd expect?

Wow, I think I might have just outrorschached Rorschach. Now stop writing because it's only cool when I'm emulating Jack Kerouac or Bret Easton Ellis, but when I start doing a very half-assed mid-1980s Alan Moore, ooooh it's time to let go of the word processor...

Did Wendy Harris marry a Communist?

Halfway through Philip Roth's I Married a Communist-- enjoying it quite a lot, even though I'd never really warmed up to Roth before. My father's a big fan though, he's kind of into the Jewish thing in literature, etc. Maybe, I'm thinking, I'd never really warmed up to Roth before because I might have started at the wrong end-- I mean, The plot against America or somesuch as opposed to say, American Pastoral. You get the idea.


But before I go-- not really relating to it, but sorta, barely, something, an idea for a DC comic book—Just so as I write it down somewhere:

Okay, setup is the Green Arrow saying something like:

"As long as no one ever questions on which side of the Marshall Plan Rex Tyler stood, but of course that’s all incidental now. I mean, that was before he went big and bought out old man Bannermain in the sixties and became one of America’s biggest captains of industry from Blue Valley to the Slaughter Swamp. Guys like Tyler, Chuck McNider, even that runt Al Pratt… it would take a dimwit like Johnny Thunder to miss out on their political preferences. Imagine what a JSA gathering must have been like in the late forties, with big man Alan Scott sucking up to Truman and really running the show behind Bird-Brains’ back. Ever wondered just where that proverbial buck stopped? It stopped right there in Civic City, my friend."

And T.S. Elliot was never into comic books anyhow

August is the cruelest month, bringing in
Exclusive action figures from the San Diego Comic-Con, arriving
The same day as Cybill’s birthday, teaming up
With my own mother’s birthday too.
Then Father’s Day, quenching
The dying embers of my paycheck etc, etc etc.

I will show you fear on my credit card bill.