Tommygun

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August 2005
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Monday, August 22nd

Little Kids

music: none
mood: pained

I had a better thought in mind, but someone didn't watch their little kids.
My delicate thoughts escaped me, due to youthful stupidity,
combined by the foolish adults who could not watch the brats.
In my mind, I became a fire, that lashed out at the moronic moppets,
and left them screaming in vain.

With a tought alone, I left them dead; mothers crying, they died too.
"Next time raise your children well, and watch them in this wicked world.
Many a child has been slashed and stabbed by the mad and ambitious,
so keep them on a short leash; ensure they make no sounds."

Perfect vengeance, these harsh, foul words, never to be real,
but instead to dance through the minds of the many
to rest one day in more fertile grounds.

I perceive the coming end to be the end of innocence,
which never did any one any good.
tommygun on 08.22.05 @ 08:12 PM CST [link] [No Comments]


Saturday, August 13th

none

music: Turkey in the Straw
mood: frantic

What can replace this soon to be lost bounty?
tommygun on 08.13.05 @ 05:17 PM CST [link] [No Comments]


none

music: Turkey in the Straw
mood: frantic

I've got not a single thought in my head right now. Peaceful, so peaceful. Were I to allow any thought to occur, I'm sure it would be the kind of horrible thoughts engaged in by politicians, philosophers, and prophets, the gloomy kind of thinking that gets in the way of any possible human happiness. Lately, I've been thinking how we're doomed, that any day now our whole civilization will collapse, leaving nothing for us to look forward to. Cheap oil is running out, and when we had a chance to find a new way, our leaders instead let the oil companies have their way, sucking the oil from the Earth and the money from our wallets. What can replace this soon to be lost bounty?
The alternatives will not be possible without the oil to bring them into being. That's why the world blew its chance back in the '70s, because we had to have our free-trade party when we should have got down to business.
tommygun on 08.13.05 @ 05:17 PM CST [link] [No Comments]


Friday, August 5th

Mulholland Drive, Epilogue

music: Peter Gunn
mood: Mystifying

I walked the streets of Saint Paul alone, unsure of where to go next. The redhead had thrown me out
again, and I didn't have a cent, so I wandered through downtown. Walking past an alley, I saw mist that seemed to come from nowhere. My instinct said to avoid it, yet I was drawn to this unnatural fog. I walked into the mist and blinked; suddenly I noticed the buildings were gone, and I was in a room. It was red throughout, except for a mermaid shaped lamp and a black satchel on a desk.
"I've seen that somewhere," I said to myself, barely audible.
"Of course you have," a thicly accented voice responded.
I turned around and saw the Frenchman. He was carrying David Lynch's head in his hand, which he set down on the desk next to the satchel.
"You are wondering why I sent for you, no?" he asked.
"I thought you had died," I said.
"Death is only a phase," he answered. "It is not enough to stop my next production."
"Nor mine," said David Lynch's disembodied head. "The Frenchman will see to it that we use lots of film,
most of which will never be seen by human eyes."
I touched the satchel. "So what does that have to do with me?"
"I loved your screenplay," the Frenchman said. "The way it had a beginning, a middle and an end...how
clever, how refreshing. Yet no car crashes or troglodyte action hero...how exceptional. All it needs..."
"Women kissing, women kissing," the head interrupted.
"Oui, the gratuitous lesbianism is most important to the refined sensibilities of the French mind."
"I'm not changing a thing," I insisted. Suddenly, everything got hazy, and steam came from every pore
and crevice in the room.
"Fool," the Frenchman said. "You will rue this day." He threw the head at me; I raised my hands to catch it. Mist filled the room before it reached me, and when it was clear again, I was back in the alley,
the head of a troll doll in my hands.
"Weird," I said to myself, then I got back on the street and went to the bus stop. Next time, I'll make sure I grab the satchel.


tommygun on 08.05.05 @ 09:55 AM CST [link] [No Comments]


Mulholland Drive, Epilogue

music: Peter Gunn
mood: Mystifying

I walked the streets of Saint Paul alone, unsure of where to go next. The redhead had thrown me out
again, and I didn't have a cent, so I wandered through downtown. Walking past an alley, I saw mist that seemed to come from nowhere. My instinct said to avoid it, yet I was drawn to this unnatural fog. I walked into the mist and blinked; suddenly I noticed the buildings were gone, and I was in a room. It was red throughout, except for a mermaid shaped lamp and a black satchel on a desk.
"I've seen that somewhere," I said to myself, barely audible.
"Of course you have," a thicly accented voice responded.
I turned around and saw the Frenchman. He was carrying David Lynch's head in his hand, which he set down on the desk next to the satchel.
"You are wondering why I sent for you, no?" he asked.
"I thought you had died," I said.
"Death is only a phase," he answered. "It is not enough to stop my next production."
"Nor mine," said David Lynch's disembodied head. "The Frenchman will see to it that we use lots of film,
most of which will never be seen by human eyes."
I touched the satchel. "So what does that have to do with me?"
"I loved your screenplay," the Frenchman said. "The way it had a beginning, a middle and an end...how
clever, how refreshing. Yet no car crashes or troglodyte action hero...how exceptional. All it needs..."
"Women kissing, women kissing," the head interrupted.
"Oui, the gratuitous lesbianism is most important to the refined sensibilities of the French mind."
"I'm not changing a thing," I insisted. Suddenly, everything got hazy, and steam came from every pore
and crevice in the room.
"Fool," the Frenchman said. "You will rue this day." He threw the head at me; I raised my hands to catch it. Mist filled the room before it reached me, and when it was clear again, I was back in the alley,
the head of a troll doll in my hands.
"Weird," I said to myself, then I got back on the street and went to the bus stop. Next time, I'll make sure I grab the satchel.


tommygun on 08.05.05 @ 09:55 AM CST [link] [No Comments]


Thursday, August 4th

busybodies

music: War Pigs
mood: pissed-off

Why must people stick their noses where it's not wanted? Does it give them a feeling of superiority? I wonder. It's some misplaced altruism, perhaps, or it could be mere curiousity. Either way, iit pisses me off. I'll let my problems fester without your help, thank you, so kindly get the hell away from me until I want something from you. Is that hard to understand? It shouldn't be, but folks just don't appreciate the value of keeping out of someone else's shit.
It's less expensive to be ignorant, but someone always has to come around and stick their nose where it does not belong. If you want to get involved in my shit, you had better have some money, because I see the world getting smaller every day, and I need to build a shelter from the storm. Soon, there will be no one in my life who cares any more, just a bunch of jackasses who want to shove their nose into my personal business, just for laughs or something even more spiteful. Families, friends, strangers...you all can just mind your own business unless you want to invest in my business. I've got plans that call for investors, not annoyances, and my personal life is not for anyone with similiar DNA or a badge or who calls themselves a boss to have any say in.
It's enough to make me regret shoving David Lynch around, just because he released Mulholland Drive without bothering to finish it first (see previous entry for the lurid detail). Enough moaning: back out to the real world for all the prying eyes to get a glimpse, and to hear folks talk about things they will never understand.
tommygun on 08.04.05 @ 05:36 PM CST [link] [No Comments]


Tuesday, August 2nd

opportunity #2

music: Prokofiev's 2nd Symphony, !st movement
mood: brash

It seems that no one wants to give me a break, but that means I have to make a break. That's why I am going to offer my first collection of poetry for only $1500, in a brilliant one copy limited edition, autographed by the author, with a little of David Lynch's ectoplasm smeared on the cover for only $100
more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What a bargain. Send me your agreement, and it will be arranged.
After all, this is America, where anything can be yours if you want to pay. What could be better than something that no one else has, and will never be able to get? I'm serious about this offer: we're talking
fresh, yet timeless verse from me, a poet of distinction, totally unknown for extra mystery. You'll get extra goodies that won't be on any mass-produced edition, so if you consider yourself a patron of tha arts, this is your big chance to patronize me.
Short shots...thought Million Dollar Baby was overrated, especially the tragic ending. Why do people get so misty over a scenario that could never happen? If Eastwood hadn't been involved, I think people
would have called it for being maudlin, exploitive, and unrealistic. Too bad, because the first half of the movie crackles with life, but that horrible ending ruined everything. I'm in favor of euthanasia, but she would never have been in that situation in the first place in real life...Karl Rove will keep his job, I predict, but it shows how corrupt America is...more later...stay tuned....
tommygun on 08.02.05 @ 10:49 AM CST [link] [No Comments]