IT MIGHT BE A BLOG...not sure

So I’ve hit (and am close to finishing) the penultimate chapter in book one of THE BIG UGLY. The actual last chapter is mainly falling action….the real action climaxes in this one. In many respects it closes the door on this part of the book and it opens the door on the next, introducing newer, better situations but also some new problems. This has been one long, twisted process, transcribing/revising from both the original manuscript and the 2014 screenplay version, as well as adding new parts. With the whole drawing-from-new-sources thang a lot of it is, because, frankly, I’m a helluva lot better at writing dialogue than I was back then. Particularly the pivotal, story-changing conversation at the end of the chapter, which I feel is less forced and clumsy than the old version. As far as new parts, that was something that originally came with the screenplay. The biggest elephant in the room is that the world is different now from the way it was in ‘89 and ‘90. Technology has changed the world drastically. Jack and his friends and enemies were originally living in a world that didn’t have social media—imagine THAT being folded into the story! How would Cyber Bullying play into the story? You’ll hafta wait and see. The societal landscape has generally evolved—granted the overall makeup of Brookdale High and Jack’s world have not changed that dramatically—he still lives in a buttfuck suburb and the bullies still run things. But we live in this whole other world, now. Representation is a huge topic these days….racism isn’t a huge topic in the book—-there’s no bias against color—Blinky Epstein gets some antisemitism leveled at him, but it’s less because he is Jewish and more because he’s disliked, and the fact that he’s Jewish is just a handy excuse. Homophobia, of course, is rampant…as far as gay representation, the only factor in either manuscript is Marc Hodge—--he’s awkward and effeminate and I never come out and say whether he’s actually queer or not—the fact of the matter is what happens to him is horrible, regardless of his orientation, so does it matter? The point isn’t his orientation—the point is that what happens to him is horrible. As I’ve said before, as a teenager, I carried a kind of tacit homophobia in me which still had its remnants hanging on when I was first working on the book. I was shedding it at that time, but it took a while to rid myself of that kind of heteronormative thinking—it came from my upbringing, it came from the religion I was brought up in. It takes some time to deprogram yourself. One thing I did in the current chapter (this dates back to the screenplay) involves the party at Doug’s house…it’s very much a split scene—-it’s a dual party thrown by Doug because he’s gotten a big art scholarship, and his older brother, who’s out of school and going into the military. So there’s an artificial and tentative divide between the basement and the rest of the house, high school kids and older kids/young adults who are out of school. The line blurs in this pseudo-dichotomy, because it’s a party, and everyone’s getting fucked up, regardless of what school they go to. Jack makes his way to the top floor to use the only available bathroom…on his way, he’s forced to fight his way past a situation where two guys are having some kind of an aggressive confrontation and it makes him afraid. On his way back he realizes that he completely misunderstood the confrontation and the two guys are making out. He stumbles through the scenario as a number of the guys’ friends have their cell phones going off and are chanting their approval. Jack, in his own thoughts, blunders through this tableau and becomes the accidental star of “half a dozen Tik Toks”. It’s a mindfuck to him, but in a positive way—as he notes, you don’t see this at Brookdale High. In a small way, anyway, it goes to show him that life after high school might offer a little less bullshit and a little more autonomy. Anyway, I’ve got one chapter to go and it’s a small one and Book I is a done deal….so I’m fulfilling my goal of getting that bad boy knocked out. Book III is actually half-written, Book II is not done at all. In a lot of ways it will require the most change. It’s a mess. It’ll be the shortest—at least maybe the BRIGHTEST book of the novel before the bobsled ride through insanity of part three. This is not your standard Joseph Campbell Hero Journey…..I have no interest in following that. Jack hits a place where he can look at what he’s done and reaches the conclusion that in the long run things have turned out well and his work is probably done here. Whether you, the reader, agree with Jack’s assessment is entirely up to you. He’s that kind of narrator.

In the Meantime, LOOK AT THIS DOG. THIS WEEK’S PLAYLIST: MAGMA-Udu Wudu MAGMA-Attahk REDD KROSS-Phaseshifter Copyright 2022 Molotov Editions

RANDO STUFF

I haven't posted much recently. You can tell I'm going through my files and trying to consolidate some stuff. Throwing some stuff up because I don't want y'all to get too lonely out there. Enjoy.

KEIN Will will will not be part Will will will want to be a part Will want to be a part not be part not of what was - there was nothing not by what comes soon not by anything of it ... RED FLAG Gwen was smashed . She dumped the contents of her purse on the couch in a mad search for her cell phone. “Aw. What’s this?!” She made a point of alerting my attention to the tiny wad of yellow, lined paper among the trash. “How did this thing get here?” I honestly didn’t care about it, but she followed herself up quickly and without prompting. “Okay, okay, it’s coke,” she shouted, just a hair too loudly. “That doesn’t bother you, does it? I mean, I do it sometimes. It’s not meth, I promise---I wouldn’t do that. Well, I did do meth once, with my Ex, but I don’t do that anymore. You don’t mind, do you? Well, I know you wouldn’t hold it against me…you wouldn’t, would you? No….that’s what I love about you, baby. You’d never do that. I know you worry about me, but you’d never judge 2 me, would you? I love you like that, babe…I’m just sayin’ it, you know? I know hearing the ‘L’ word gets you nervous, but I love you like that….you know? I’m just sayin’ it, okay, babe? I’m just sayin’ it ‘cause I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I’m sayin’ it…” Copyright 2022 C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST: PINK FLOYD-Piper at the Gates of Dawn PINK FLOYD-The Wall BLACK SABBATH-Paranoid STIC BASIN 3

I just found it lying around, so....

It's the trajectory of every Little Hitler on every street corner in every godforsaken hamlet. You make a crack and get a wry laugh in return----is the laugh sympathetic, taken aback by the inappropriateness, resigned solidarity----or was it simple contempt you heard? Yes, you realize it was probably contempt. He loses; That's what he does. That's his primary function. He's not just a garden variety loser----he loses so spectacularly it feels like some kind of triumph. He loses at the top of his lungs, in broad, godforsaken daylight, screaming five miles down to the ground without a parachute. He stumbles from one room to the next and contemplates the emptiness inside----literal, not figurative, due to the vast portions of innards that have been redistributed elsewhere for study. Maybe someday a cure for him will be found. Hope springs eternal. Make no mistake---he's ugly. And not just on the outside. His mind is a mess of sordid pictures---barbaric scenarios and bodily fluids---piss-and-jizz smelling backrooms, urine-and-tear-stained gauze curtains masking a legion of bleak sunrises, rectal residue pooling in bathtubs, violent, chaotic slapstick clown rape routines. The living end, hallmarks of what he tentatively terms “erectile therapy”. It's a long hit-and-miss process. He reckons there may be no silver bullet, no once-and-for-all boner pill, but he labors on like a mongoloid toddler, hoping the endless, degrading self-therapy will eventually help him feel like a man again....if he manages to remember how that feels. “I thought I heard you say I'd never be a Man,” he remembers saying. It was some outing and the crowd in concern were his father and a group of his father's friends. They all laughed obligingly. “Oh, no. it's okay! You'll be a man!” And clapped him on the back. He was twenty-three. The conversation still haunts him. Tonight he will laugh and drink with friends, forget the ugly omens of tomorrow and ignore the terror in the cavities of his body left hollow. He fantasizes about having no legs below the knees. He figures it's the next logical step in the rolling autopsy and hell, maybe he can live with it. What kind of world will it be? “A world where people like me don't have to be lonely.” The marquis reads, TWO BILLION DEAD, NO WAITING