Greeting. Although there have been some good and even very good experiences in the past while, it is nonetheless true that I meet these current days with great dismay. Not for everyone, and certainly not for people who are not evil and/or insane (insane counts for at least 90% around here) — but more than enough dismay that I simply don’t want to do this anymore, because my reflections bring repetitions of the misery, and I’d rather change the subject. It’s Friday, too — and I despise Fridays. I try, I really do, but generally Fridays have been so ugly, miserable, pointless and empty (most of my “life”) that I’d rather give Friday the big “FUCK YOU!!!” before it gives me the big “FUCK YOU!!!” And here we are — except I’m not anymore. It is true that there was going to be a rather complex “Closing Essay” of sorts — and I have written most of it (Gregorian Year 2009 showed such promise, and yet became so unimaginably ugly and stupid — from choices made by others — that I had no option but to appraise it, as if desperately clutching the wheel in a car with no brakes) — however I have decided, just this evening, to refrain from publishing it. Not for shame or discomfort — I have no problem calling anything and everything as I observe it — but because…well…because of two factors: 1. It has taken me the past few weeks, in very intense concentration, to comprehend the situation in which I find myself, and to comprehend the elements which conspired to create it — and theeeee hell if I’m going to give away all of that for free; and 2. I’m hardly unaware that my remaining readers of this diminishing journal — give or take an oddball — are icky, self-obsessed movie dorks, who (strangely) look to me to give them something — which I won’t, and can’t. Instead of looking to me, why not look to yourself? L: You’re not a bad guy — brush your teeth. J: You are a bad guy — and you really suck ass as a “writer.” J: Darkness and decay are good, too! That sort of thing. I’m sure that a couple of people about whom I care a lot also check in intermittently, and thank you, and cheers to you — but this medium no longer serves. I won’t be writing anything else here. I have completed a long, complex and arduous circuit — and I’m not about to repeat it. If you’re a friend, and any of this strikes you as odd or uncomfortable — well, I’m sorry about the uncomfortable part. You may laugh at this notion, but my nature is to be quite generous and open — and unfortunately this has led to some semi-psychos glomming onto me. Exhausting. No more. I can spot ‘em now. I’m tired of being drained by other people’s insanity — and then being left completely alone to make repairs. Enough of this stupid place. Buy a vowel, get a clue. I’ll be good to anybody who’s being good (or, at minimum, making some attempt at being good) in return (or just to the populace in general) — but no more secrets shall I reveal — in hopes of engendering “community.” Sorry about all the misery — I dunno, I sure didn’t want it or ask for it. But it is done. One needs hopes to feel disappointment — and my hopes are well and truly dead. That’s something, at least. And thank you for reading the fun parts, the respectful parts, the inspiring parts. Some good people doing some good things. Nonetheless: If I could do my past couple of decades over again (or, indeed, my whole “life”) — seriously now, I would. Alas for that. Some pivotal people profoundly let me down — and the blame falls squarely on them, and that’s the truth. My consolation is this: A future wherein I shall never again suffer shitbags gladly (or, at all). Go vegetarian. Read a book. Your dog is merely a mutated wolf or jackal. Stop having to be the loudest all the time (you asshole). Destroy all weapons. Rid yourself of religion as you would a disease or mental illness. Cars are stupid; take trains. Sing songs. Be nice to people. Bananas contain potassium. Pray for rain. Closing. ~G 26 February, 2010.

Hi. Happy New Year.

It would behoove you to get accustomed to stopping clicking here, because I really am about to finish and post the last appraisal (below, soon) of my “life” (as such) — and “move on” (I’m stealing back that phrase for common usage — since it proved useless and embarrassing in politics).

The movie site will remain; and renew.

I go somewhere else.

Meanwhile, I think it’s okay for this to be, by the Gregorian calendar, the last post of this awkward online journal. Presently, given this vulgar holiday, I reflect upon a lyric by Jonathan Richman: “Do you long for her, or for the way you were?” — and it’s kind of…neither, really. I could have done without the bludgeoning disappointments of the past quarter-century — damn, some of you people really are fucking shitheads; learn some MANNERS — but if you were in my life during that chapter, and you’re thereafter out of it, there’s a reason for that.

As it’s Valentine’s Day, I realise this year that I don’t love anybody. Not romantically — or partnerally (that should be a word). I like the concept — but nobody steps up and proves herself worthy. I am left with the hideous jokes of the past. Whee.

The rub (or lack thereof) is: Life sans partnership, to me, feels like a terrible waste, a cruel and sadistic ploy to drain and kill the soul. I have endured this, for years (alas, my “family” suck ass — no backup plan there) — but I really don’t feel like enduring it anymore.

Where’s my girlfriend? Huh? Where’s my girlfriend?

(She’s probably sucking her dog’s genitals, or rimming her cat, or both. Useful way to spend your time and energy, babe.)

Kindness, generosity, patience and ardor all proved fruitless — wasted upon girls whose stupidity becomes more apparent to me as the years pass. I don’t miss them. They’ll probably turn into “cougars” and wonder why their lives aren’t satisfying. Ha-ha. Stupid girls.

I don’t like fat girls, either. If you’re fat, you should go on a diet and get some exercise. Stop being disgusting. You’re depressing everybody.

Loneliness is certainly a lot better than those horrid fates.

Go hurt somebody else, fatty. Or better, go hurt yourself.

Anyway…

I do feel peace. I like peace. Being freaked out just because everybody else is freaked out is RETARDED. Go easy. Although there’s a melancholy vibe to this Valentine’s Day, I’ll sleep well through the remainder of the morning, and I’ll awaken reasonably refreshed and content to greet the world and its people. Yesterday I was even nice to a crazy-ass old guy with bad breath, who flung himself at me and started blathering about Lew Wasserman and trying to get at least twenty bucks out of me. I gave him three quarters and two minutes. He was one bitter son of a bitch, but he sought my attention so I gave a little bit. Now, if you’re one of those judgmental twerps in my “life,” you probably would have snubbed that guy, and you should probably note that I fit better in this world than you do. And it’s very hard work some days. That guy was 100% the opposite of what I wanted to encounter after dinner, but I let him talk. You, loudmouth, you don’t have that kind of patience. Go fuck yourself. Twice.

To balance, I’d like to thank those friends who’ve appeared, even peripherally and/or briefly, over the past few days. It is no exaggeration to say that your presence connects much, makes most endeavours seem “worth it,” and saturates my world with colour (even when I want it grey). Enormous appreciation to you.

It’s funny…I really am scrabbling through my memories, trying to come up with fuzzy-romantic reflections — but even this or that nice moment is totally eclipsed by how much of an asshole the girl really was, outside of that moment (and how much damage she chose to inflict). It’s a clean slate now; I don’t pine anymore. I could die and go, “Whatever.” But I guess I’ll live.

So there’s no “her,” and I like me better now than then. Hm. I suppose, if anything, I can romance the potential of what was — and, since I firmly assert that “time” does not exist, still is!

There was an era — before everything got ugly and stupid and fucking unbearably horrible — when I gazed upon the world…not with my eyes, really; I guess I gazed upon the world with my ears. A sonic horizon awaited me (reader, perhaps you can relate) — and I believed — not idealistically, not naively, but simply truly — in…potential, I suppose — potential when “potential” and “love” become synonymous and interchangeable and meaningless as words and yet infinite in resonance. A lot of people are into bullshit, and it programs their thinking and actions — but I’m not into bullshit. I am — and always have been, and always shall be — into great stuff.

The great stuff makes it worth it, imbues life with Life.

From before the recent era of toxic, unbearable bullshit, then, I close with two holiday-specific examples of the great stuff. As I’ve said before, I’d happily live in the present if the present offered pop music anywhere near as good as the ABC song (but it doesn’t)…and the Tanita song…which makes me fall apart, cry, and turn into mud.

I choose to be mud until springtime.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

And a pre-final goodbye from The Writer Formerly Known As.

*

Love you, Martin:

Love you, Tanita:

Toodles.

HI. FINAL NOTE ON THIS WHILST I FINISH IT: I REALLY HAVEN’T BEEN PLEASED (GENERALLY) WITH THE WAY THINGS HAVE GONE THE PAST FEW YEARS — AND PART OF THIS IS L.A. (WHERE SELF-OBSESSION IS ALMOST EVERYONE’S TOP PRIORITY — IT AIN’T PRETTY!), PART OF THIS IS MY BAD LUCK IN TERMS OF FAMILY AND SOME FORMER “FRIENDS,” AND PART OF IT IS PERCEPTION. THAT’S WHY I’M DOING A FINAL POST: I’M DROPPING WHAT I DON’T LIKE. BUT DON’T WORRY — IT AIN’T ALL BAD. SOON AS I CAN. HAVE A NICE DAY UNLESS YOU SUCK. ~G

Hm…well, you’re still checking back, aren’t you? Here’s the thing: I have written about half of the closing post — but it’s much more “negative” than most people (particularly Americans) could hope to handle, and although I don’t intend to introduce any significant edits, it will require its second half to feel balanced and complete . . . and I have too many projects breathing down my neck to deliver it all just yet. A couple of notes on “negativity,” though: I was in a restaurant recently, and a somewhat dim waitress who’s in love with her dog told me that the rain makes her happy; in turn, I replied that part of that is due to negative ions in the atmosphere; she firmly clarified to me that no, what she felt was happiness. Moron. Also, what may read to you as “negativity” is in fact, to me, only about catharsis — opening up and expressing, rather than bottling up and toxifying. If I feel, see, hear or otherwise experience something, then I have the right to write about that — just as you have the right to write about your feelings or whatever. That’s all it is. I’m sorry if you don’t get it. If you need a refresher on the concept, I suggest seeking out Peter Gabriel’s only LAME album (”Us” — figures it’s from the goddammed lame ’90s), and listening to the track “Digging in the Dirt.” That’s all it’s about. There really is no more to it. Females in particular seem to have a big problem with my sporadic “negativity” — but guess what, honeybuns? I don’t like your stupid ‘tude, either — and it’s been years since I’ve encountered anything remotely resembling a “lady.” This is my online journal, much of it concerning years of unhappiness punctuated by Fun Events!, and I’m concluding it because I don’t want life to feel like this anymore. It sucks here. I’ll present the final installment as soon as it’s ready. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. ~G

Hey, you were hitting it pretty hard here on Sunday, folks. Full week-end for me = haven’t completed the last post. If you’re even finding this, it means you’ve been a regular reader, so thank you for that. But here’s the irony: I was never doing this for attention; I was doing it because…well…at this point it gets metaphysical, but either “I painted myself into a corner” (if you’re into that view on things; I endorse that for stupid people…but I’m not one of them) or “life began to suck quite viciously no matter how you try to spin it” (which is much more the case, I assure you; unlike many, I do not thrive on trouble and unrest). In any case, I tapped through many lonely nights here because life really wasn’t giving me anything else worth doing (or, it was leading me on into pointlessness; fug dat) — and it still isn’t giving me a whole lot with which to work (or, one hopes, play) — and I totally blame the Boomers for that, because they are greedy shits and are destroying the world (boycott them! watch them dwindle!). But aside from that, although I can’t change the world, I do very much have the power to stop reflecting on it — or, at least, to reflect on it much more selectively from now on. Which is why I’m closing this thing — there were many ecstatic moments throughout these years…but no genuine happiness (I’m stealing back that word); thus I’m tired of writing about how much everything sucks — even though everything pretty much has sucked (and provably). But this isn’t the closing message. This is simply the: “Hey, whole lotta bangin’ on Sunday — people must be intrigued! I’ll attempt to placate them…” message. I’ll be back with the Closure Post soon — as the wretched can be heard to bellow from the slave pits of Hollywood, “ASAP!!!!!!!!!!” — but be forewarned: It’ll probably be mostly text, and if there are photos they’ll only be added later. I love images, but this was never intended to be a picture site. But it will return to being a movie site. And this “blog” will die. Which is cool. Check back whenever.

Hi. The last post will appear here either Friday or over le week-end.

Since I’m so brilliant that I can actually DO things and also REASON WHY I’m doing them, here’s the reason why:

This life has not been satisfying. I am disappointed. No point in continuing any reflection thereupon; thus, rather than ending the life, I’ll just end the online journal thereof — and say fuck-all, and do whatever I please from now on.

Anyway, come back later for the Grand Finale.

* Last Friday, the 8th of January, 2010, my “father” removed the door from my “mother’s” room (my old bedroom; I’ve been pleading with her for years to move out of there and LIVE LIKE AN ADULT FOR ONCE), and then he THREATENED TO THROW A CHAIR AT HER. She was supposed to call me on Saturday. Of course, she didn’t (she is a master of omission, manipulation, and — when it suits her — lying); thus from other, more reliable, sources did I obtain this information. That’s what happens when you let a psycho play “good boy” in order to get out of a well-earned lockup — both in jail and in a mental facility (Way to go!!!) — and then, surprise, he starts with the psycho crap again. The door and chair are mild, however, when compared to this — which I would like for you, and everyone interested, to know: HE ALSO THREATENED TO DESTROY THE HOUSE IN TWO WEEKS (That’d be the 22nd of January, 2010) — AND TOLD HIS “WIFE” SHE’D BETTER HAVE ALL OF HER STUFF MOVED OUT BY THEN, OR IT WILL BE DESTROYED ALONG WITH THE HOUSE. HE ADDED THAT HE “DOESN’T CARE IF HE GOES TO JAIL.”

(Now isn’t that special. That’s factual information, from a very reliable source — a source much more reliable than my “mother” — who claimed she was “misunderstood” when she first reported those threats. “MISUNDERSTOOD”??? How can one “MISUNDERSTAND” a threat to DESTROY A HOUSE??? And what’s he going to do? — go rent a wrecking ball for the afternoon? Nope. Only one way, short of explosives, that a skinny old psycho can destroy a house. If you know him, go ask him about it. Tell the police about it. And kick his fucking ass — hard — while you’re at it.)

Next notion:

* Tonight I walked into a fave eatery, just as one of my favourite songs EVER began playing. (I don’t mean Casual Ever — I mean EVER-ever.) That was astounding, as the song’s been running through my head, and I’ve been singing it, all week. Yet even more astounding: That song was IMMEDIATELY followed by ANOTHER of my fave songs EVER-ever — a very different song, albeit from the same era, yet another one I frequently sing and intend to cover. I know that this was supernaturally wonderful because of this: Everything after that was pretty much shit.

* BEOWULF or AVATAR? Why, this is simple: BEOWULF!!! Totally! The true “game-changer” was Robert Zemeckis’ Beowulf, in 2007 — which also looked like a damned videogame, but at least it was based on a real story. Avatar is based on a bunch of stuff Jim Cameron stole from real creative people. I mostly enjoyed mostly sitting through Avatar because I stared at it with a good friend — but otherwise I could have skipped it. Beowulf gets my conditional love.

* Everybody in SoCal is still self-obsessed and usually unpleasant. I’d still take it over the Midwest, where people are into Christ and football and guns. But I’d be happy to leave this country altogether.

* Recently I encountered that girl-woman I cared about the most throughout 2009. She looked at me, twice, as if she’d never seen me before — and she spoke not a single word to me. We used to carry on for hours, we went to events together, and I made it clear that I care about her. She stared at me blankly, like a stranger. There’s no reason for this — I haven’t even seen her lately. It’s just how things go here. I knew for most of last year that she had no interest in me, and I learnt to live with that. But perhaps this is why she gave me the zombie-face tonight: My desire is gone. Everything dies eventually.

* I went on one date each with two adult human females last year, and they were both stupid, selfish cows. Prior to that, over the past few years, I opened my heart to only two marginally-”adult” females. They both were, and are, skanks. So much wasted “time” and energy! I don’t know what I was thinking. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking.

* I have yet to trust an editor.

* I’m trying hard to think of a favourite business or restaurant around here which hasn’t closed on me. There are perhaps two; there used to be about twenty.

* It annoys me that people are already using Haiti to guilt-trip everybody else about taking care of their own business. We’re not all meant to go help people in Haiti. Let Obama and Schwarzenegger go rebuild houses in Haiti — they’re the ones who signed up to be “leaders.” (Actually, I’d be surprised if Carter — the only reasonable President in my lifetime thus far — weren’t there with his wife already, helping out. Even I can get past the fact that he’s a Christian. Nobody’s perfect.)

* At this point, exactly twenty years ago, I was deeply in love (or: “love”), and fairly certain that the girl-woman with whom I was hooting and hollering around “town” was going to be the one I’d ask to marry me (alas, my “parents” never learnt her name; and when I went to visit her in her country that spring, her parents clearly hated me). I was toiling hard-core at USC’s Film School (best in the world; suck it!), had generously allowed my film-partner to use the 16mm B&W stock to shoot his goofy “Lovers-Who-Murder-Each-Other” movie (ALL of the dorks were making those) while I kindly chose colour video for my own vastly more creative project (got an ‘A’ — suck it!), and I had some truly sensationally annoying roommates, plus a couple of frequent mega-obnoxious visitors who are now very rich A-list Hollywood directors, one of whom is severely worshipped by fanboys, whereas the other is severely worshipped by the French. (Amusingly, both have been having children — albeit in VERY different ways.) Mainly all I wanted to do was make movies, fuck my girlfriend, and eat Cheez-Whiz out of the can. Twenty years ago, I succeeded in all three objectives. Now everybody makes shitty little movies and sticks them up online, every girl is “bisexual” (and MEAN), and I prefer to go vegan. The girl I used to fuck became a lawyer; looking back, she was never really all that nice anyway. I’m smarter now, and I eat better, and I’m lonelier. Whee.

* Most people concur that Gregorian year 2009 was a bummer, and I concur, too. Nonetheless, the torpor and misery of that planetary cycle were for me punctuated by some acutely wonderful experiences. If you’re a friend, and were involved, whether in L.A., Chicago or various parts of New York, I thank you most kindly. I saw a bunch of celebrities and attended some terrific entertainment events in 2009 — but without those friends nearby, it’d be for naught. As Mel Brooks said to me: “Thank you. Bless you.”

* Although I’d like to conclude this entry on a happy note, first I must refer you back up to the first point in this list: That my “father” claims he’ll be “destroying the house” on 22 January, 2010. But don’t wait, don’t hesitate. Hit him. Hit him now. Hit him hard. Shithead needs to be hit. Nobody else in my alleged “family” is doing ding-diddly squat to improve this situation — they ignore my calls and emails, thanks!!! — so I’m asking you, whoever you are, to go punch the living shit out of my “father.” He likes to inflict pain on people. Go teach him what real pain is. You have my full consent.

As for everyone else — unless you’re a scumbag — you have my love, support and dedication for the calendar year ahead, and all of the illusion of “time” beyond that. I write, I give, I love; that’s all I do.

~G

There’s a lot to say — and then of course most people interpret what one is saying through the prism of their own views and prejudices, resulting in inaccuracy mild to severe.

Mainly, things are kind of okay. I saw someone I’ve missed, and that brings a smile.

Coming from the heart here, though, is something I don’t think I’d like to do, much, anymore — as every now and then some creepy comment will seep through, and I have to decide whether to tell the person to get a life, or else ignore them. (In any case, it’s surely not welcome.)

I can say that strife continues within my alleged “ancestral home.” Very bad news. I do not understand people who are addicted to unhappiness.

Nor am I some shallow little puddle (which, in SoCal, is actually an asset, alas) — but I believe we can feel, and deeply, without crapping on everybody else’s day.

America still needs to learn this.

Have I mentioned that I despise: 1. Smoking; 2. Any and all televised sports (the louder the commentator, the more I hate it); 3. Country; 4. Rap (except for RUN-DMC); and 5. The trailer for the very, very, very stupid-looking remake of Clash of the Titans?

Just seems worth mentioning.

There are also plenty of things I like — but why give away the good stuff here?

Speaking of America, though, the substance (if any) of this post involves my recent travels by aeroplane, across the nation currently called America — in particular the airports involved — and in particular-particular, the art within, which I have personally glimpsed and appraised. It goes like this:

NEW YORK: Most of the art is of the tedious “funky/edgy” variety, and features, primarily, PEOPLE. The close-ups of these people generally look like outtakes from a racially-forced Benetton spread, and their message seems to be: “CHECK US OUT! WE HAVE ETHNICITY! ISN’T THAT FASCINATING???”

THE MIDWEST: Most of these airports feature “art” from local photographers, the subjects being primarily leaves and creeks and dirt and shit. Their message seems to be: “HEY!!! CHECK OUT OUR ULTRA-HIGH-RES IMAGES OF THE EXTREMELY FLAT AND BORING NATURAL ENVIRONMENT REMAINING BETWEEN OUR STRIP MALLS!!!”

LOS ANGELES: The airport “art” in LAX is composed mainly of junk nailed to other junk in total bullshit ways, signifying nothing. The message of this “art” seems to be: “YO!!! WE RETARDED!!!”

LAS VEGAS: I couldn’t bear to look.

I think I need new worlds to explore.

Shall conclude this thing soon.

Cheers.

Well…true.

But busy, too.

I can relay the gist:

With some associated details, it’s “time” for this thing to end…so there can be other works…a revised perspective (again)…and new things.

I’ll get back on that — as they say in the slave-mills — “asap”!

…but later Friday…

…or some”time” over the week-end…

…I’ll write some Interesting things here.

Meanwhile, you have a nice 2010.

Backson.

Apart from that, I’m almost “caught up” — which feels nice.

Oh, and: Sherlock Holmes is not supposed to be short and bratty — and if you’re in either of America’s best two cities, please favour The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (Year’s. Best. Film.) over the, um, “Squeakuel” (I’m certain that the former will be more enlightening and enjoyable for the whole family — well, unless anybody in your family is stupid).

Saw Avatar. It’s nifty. Much too obvious, and Worthington is Worthingless — but the designs, action and environments are fun — exactly like 3D IMAX should be: Fun. Not deep — Fun.

Auditorially, I enjoyed that the six-legged “horses” honk exactly like velociraptors — and I hated the sappy music.

And tendrils in the plaits are grody.

But I/we still had Fun.

Thanks for the Fun, James (pat-pat).

And thank you for looking at the internet; now go and do whatever.

I am very disappointed by this.

Between this loudmouth and the abomination that preceded him, we have cause to think that the U.S. Presidency has become a vacation sweepstakes.

This much is certain: The plan to post daily photos with comments, throughout December, totally bombed. But then again: I’m not a girl. For example: My fridge has a few magnets on it — not photos of EVERY SINGLE PERSON I’VE EVER MET, HOLDING A DRINK AND LOOKING GOOFY.

I’ll strive to be more Visual in the coming year. Maybe.

Meanwhile, got some more pressing projects to complete!