Me too, mancub, me too.
Herself incubated what may possibly be plague at Bloodstock and is therefore in the Plague Cell (our daughter’s old room) once again. The internet is acting like an elephant is sitting on it. The humidity continues to be fucking terrible. But I am not ready for summer to end. I still need to get down to Old Leigh!
(Nightmare scenario: we are already talking about Xmas planning)
OPERATIONS: script/dev/essay/newsletter
STATUS: breathing soup
READING: THE KILLER’S MARK, MW Craven (UK) (US+)
‘Agreed. You want overt or covert surveillance?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Covert it is then. Having a scrap with a bunch of Bruce Lee wannabes will let the boys vent some of that pent-up anger.’
‘Who you gonna use?’
‘Best you don’t know,’ Towler said. ‘But rest assured they’re fucking animals. Half of them still eat with their feet.’
LISTENING: IF WE COULD HEAR, Natalie Beridze
Yes, I am playing it in the CD drive! Like an Old!
LAST WATCHED: LET THE CORPSES TAN (2017) on MUBI, a Belgian film which roughly approximates what you’d get if you stuffed Sergio Leone full of speed and told him to direct a Seventies crime drama. With Saul Bass in the back yelling ANTS ANT ANTS and Ben Wheatley close by whispering spells from A FIELD IN ENGLAND.
It is drunk on style and very fun.
DRINK: herself brought some vile cherry “soda” home, which I saved with a shot of O’Donnell’s Very Cherry Moonshine like an hero
MISSION CONTROL: I can be contacted via the Cheng Caplan Company or Inkwell Management. Link in masthead to join my free newsletter.