Universal Ruler's blog: "Rambling Randomness"

I sit in my chair twitching, itching. I'm a fiend. Waiting for the lights to go down, for the sound, for the fury. Waiting to hear the whiring sound that tells me it's time to go away to a far off place. But it's taking too long and I feel sick, I feel sick, I feel sick. I wish there was someway I could inject this directly into myself. Jimmy Choo, that kooky chink, smiles me that smile and sometimes I hate him so much I could kiss him. He feels the same way. His eyes are bugged out in anticipation of the ride, of the glorious trip through mindscapes not our own. He reeks of someone who hasn't left the house in days and I do too.

I hear the whiring. It starts behind me and fills my ears. The lights go down and the color comes up. The sound starts. The fury starts. I bite the bullet and ride the snake. I go away for a bit.

Two hours later we hit the streets. Fucking Brando in The Wild Ones. I'm buzzed and he's tweaking. We ride the train to the big M. Chinatown is the shit after dark. Jimmy Choo, that chinky kook, wants to walk down 5th and re-enact Midnight Cowboy, scare the stiffs and sometimes I love him so much I could punch him in the teeth. We swig sake from a secret stash and I feel alive and sick at the same time. Brando and DeNiro. The modern day gods. Forget the big H when I've got the big M and R. Heroin doesn't compare and I've done it enough times to know. It always leaves you, they all do in the end. But Marlon and Robert won't, living on forever on a thin white screen. They can't ever leave, trapped in my mind like poor puppets made to dance whenever I want to recollect. They're mine, all mine, always mine, these gods of celluoid. And now I want a bike, something big and American, something that shouts conspicuous consumption. I want to ride and roar like the devil on his steed. I want to fuck on the handlebars and let the cigarette ashes fly into my eyes through the wind. I want to roar past a funeral and remind them who they pray to at night, the Wild Ones.

It won't be long before I'm fiending again. Jimmy Choo, that kooky chinky junkie does too. I want the lights to go down, want to hear the whiring, want The Sound and the Fury. I'm ready for an Apocalypse, Now. I want the world to die so I can be The Omega Man, The Last Man on Earth and I'll go live in a House of Sand and Fog.

Who needs heroin when I've seen my celluoid gods.