May 31, 2009|
Talked about the boundaries between us, and the lines we keep crossing, but I don't really respect the lines anyway, so we shared a donut, and then I had my hand on her leg and her hand was on my hand and then we were in her house and we both sat on the floor, with the tension growing betweeen us more and more. I had a sudden instinct to do something, but it was strange, and I didn't know what it was, so I told her, and I tried the first step of the instinct which was falling onto her, putting my hands on her thighs, and then I realized where that was meant to go, it was a play-it-by-ears kind of thing but paint-by-numbers, where the end was predetermined, but the motivation was purely primal. So I stopped, and said, "that was 'fuck-you-on-the-floor' inappropriate" and then she fell on the floor anyway and laughed and laughed and laughed.
We shared some hugs that seemed could lead to nowhere but fucking, but we didn't fuck, we just hugged, but it was the most bizarre, ongoing, sporadic hug action I've encountered.
Marilyn Manson's new album is sporadic. I thought maybe it was the descent into drug abuse as recording took place, as it became less and less solid, and then I had the horrible realization that it might be a collection of B-sides they hopes we wouldn't be able to tell. The songs individually can be so strong, and so effective, but together, they just don't work.
Last night, as I drove back from my San Mateo friend's place, I was lost in the hills, turning corners, unsure where I was, and I Have to Look Up Just to See Hell was playing, and it was so good, so effective, so primal, that it fit that moment. But it doesn't really fit that album, the album falls flat. But the song, if it could be sold in that moment of driving in unfamiliar places with the windows open and the cold night air and the insects swarming, that would be an album.