A Good Anarchist Podcast is Hard to Find

Yo. To mention the hour is unnecessary as it is late, late, late. I'm downloading any podcast that is even close to being anarchist. Want to get Under the Pavement, a UK radio station with a podcast, but no luck with the download. I always get seduced into thinking that this time, things will be different, that I'll get ahead. Usually it is some grant or something that Ive applied for and didn't get, but really it is just that ridiculous and evil American myth of class mobility that I've looped into. My partner always says that it it such a big myth in this country, the idea of class mobility that in Europe people have a very different idea about it. Basically, most Europeans have a clearer understanding that whatever class you're in, that's the one you'll stay in. I am lucky because, so far, I've remain pretty broke which keeps me searching for radical podcasts at 3 a.m. so that I can listen to them and feel sane. My favorite podcast right now (other than Veganfreak Radio) is The Angry Hippie podcast. You can find him on iTunes. As I was downloading random radical political podcasts, ones I am new to, I suddenly noticed that little yellow ball spinning next to the Angry Hippie podcast. I was signaling that he has a new one out. Thank fucking god. Now I can lay in bed and listen to him rant-and drag my fevered brain out of some stupid American myth.

Head Wound Podcast #5

Well, we finally recorded and posted Head Wound #5. We hope you notice that we are getting more of a grip on what we're up to: crime, true and otherwise. In this podcast we discuss borderline personality disorders (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borderline_personality_disorder), the use of human hair in gifts to your exs, check-cashing corpses and milkshake-slurping snakes. We used Semi-Detached a Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode as an example of borderline personality disorder. We then chatted about the true crime story in Hell's Kitchen where two guys dragged around their pal's corpse in a wheelchair as they tried to cash his check. Gnarly even for Hell's Kitchen! Jed and I then wandered onto our creepy things section of our show. I was, per usual, a vat of misinformation about my thirsty snakes invading urban areas in such of sustenance. Turns out it wasn't in India, but Australia. Given how much rain we're having where we are, I wouldn't be surprised is I saw a few water moccasins moseying by. I am sure there are other things we rattled on about, but this will do for now.

What the Fuck

With this insomnia thing I can only say "What the fuck." Grisly, most grisly of grislies. It's like being on the Posiedon, the 1972 movie in which a ship turned completely upside down. But unlike the awesome actor Shelley Winters who, with her lungs of steel, swam an amazing distance, I have weak lungs for insomnia. Good God almighty, it wreaks havoc with my creative life. Rare as it is nowadays, my entire life still gets tipped upside down and I am dumped into that ocean of night known so well to us insomniacs. No pleasant warm swim, no nice drifting in friendly waters, insomnia nights are cold, shark-infested seas fraught with frustrations, remorse as well as the compulsion to get a "real" job (you can imagine how dafted I must be to even be considering that last one). Ms. Static (that pesky feline who loves to disrupt my life in the darkened closet) is thrilled at my insomnia as she, being a nocturnal thing, is happy for the company. At least, being up, I don't have to worry about what she is doing while I am sleeping. This later point always bothers me: that I live with a creature who has sharp teeth, long nails and well, questionable motives. Afterall, how do I know that she doesn't consider me meat? Did I mention that paranoia is my legacy and that insomnia is it's cure? I mean, if I'm always up, then I can be alert to whatever I need to be alert to. Not that I know what that is, but hay I'm prone to paranoia that fear of whatever the fuck might be going on without my knowledge.

Last night, the insomnia moved on to God only knows where. I will not curse it as I am, well, paranoid that is will come back and get me. And it always does. What the fuck.

Onward into the fray...

Broke-ass writer reporting in

Hay,

Since my last blog much has evolved. I've gotten out of the closet. I do not mean the metaphorical one as in coming out as oddly queer. That I did  LONG time ago. I'm talking about my actual darkened closet, the one I've been I was writing in. I don't know when I started writing in there again or when I stopped. I am sure that the relentless desperation, morose feelings and fear of failure that hound my creative impulses had something to do with going in there. Whether or not they were culpable in my falling out of there...well, let us assume until further notice, that they did. I take no responsibility for the ebbs and flows of my writing patterns. Well, actually I do, but I should know better. Because no matter how much I create writing schedules they all crash into me. We roll around on the floor, get swept into depression, slither into God only knows what rat-hole of my personality and...then here I am again. "Where have you been?," a queer-punk girl once asked me when I wandered into San Francisco's only girl punk cafe. "Have I been somewhere?" I asked. I looked at her through the fog of my brain. And that's the way it goes. I do my creative work with rigor and a discipline then I slip away into the void where we artists go. Sometimes I know I've fallen in or out, I never know which. When I know I'm gone, I don't like it in there. I even try to get out. But can't. And then. Bam. I'm back, might even know that I've been gone. And I get a little more work done. Right now, I'm sitting in our new office ("Our" is Heads Will Roll Films). There is more light in here, but fortunately, there are shades I can pull and a door I can close. So that the next time I slide into the void and am "gone missing" at least I won't have to answer anymore awkward questions about where was I because no one will hopefully notice I was here in the first place.

My external obsessions: at 3 a.m. they are peanut butter on bananas of right off the spoon, handfuls of raisins and anything else sweet which, in my place, is very little. I remain obsessed with the all things Needles and Pens (http://www.needles-pens.com). I want to get a copy of "My Penguin" Dracula (http://www.penguin.co.uk/nf/Book/BookDisplay/0,,9780141033471,00.html) which has a blank cover, one that you can draw or paint on. Ryan Adams, the musician, did an awesome splotchy-type painting of Dracula's castle on his copy. I want that too.