The man in the room in my head wants a TV and some cheap beer.

I don’t sleep too well. My brain is like a hummingbird on meth. Hyperactive brain- the dialog is non-stop. I quit fighting it a long time ago. I used to go to the gym at 4 a.m. By the end of a couple weeks I’d be a wreck, trying to function on like 3-4 hours of sleep a night, tops. So I just stay up. I put a movie on and I either read or I write, and sometimes equal parts of both. I like gangster movies- Gangster movies, War movies, Prison movies- the dialog works for me, and I find the glorified violence way better than the lies on the news. More people should watch glorified violence- the bar scene from Casino where Joe Pesci fucks that guy up with a ball-point pen. The Bar scene in Sleepers where the hoods kill the prison guard. Apocalypse Now. The end of American Me. If more people entertained thoughts of getting mercilessly beaten with a shovel or a length of pipe maybe there wouldn’t be so many people around who act like complete fuckheads because they know our society protects them- it’s like their constitutional right to be a shitheel. I love the look of surprise on a person’s face when you fuck them up for being a witless prick. It’s actually pretty gratifying to make fuckheads really scared. And don’t get me wrong- I love the ideas and ideals of the Dalai Lama- but until everyone wises up, there are witless assholes out there who have to be kicked to the curb.

I also like that a lot of the movies use the Stones for the soundtrack for particularly dark scenes. The Imagery of the Hell’s Angels at Altamont must have really burned itself into some heads.

Anyhow- I pulled down some old Henry Rollins stuff this week- The First Five Years and Solypsis. I tend to go back to certain stuff over and over: Rollins, Larry Fondation, Denis Johnson, Craig Davidson, Brett Easton Ellis, Chuck Palahniuk, Bukowski, Burroughs- the list is long but a lot of the work is similar in one way or another. Anyhow- I was reading this one passage from Rollins and it really made sense to me:

A bare bulb burns in an apartment in my brain. In the middle of the apartment is a small table and a wooden chair. There is a cot in the corner. Pacing the floor of the apartment is a man who has never slept, ever. He stares out the window constantly. He is scarred and insane from his thoughts. Everything he thinks is true. That’s why he lives alone. He writes words on the walls to remind and console himself.

I liked this- I think I have a little apartment in my brain, and the guy sprints around climbing the walls.

I’m going to go to bed and try to sleep. I bet the brain guy is climbing the walls as soon as I close my eyes, reciting Shakespeare and throwing around the furniture.

I leave the TV on while I sleep- so the little fucker has something to watch.