LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

Bae, baby, babe      You creed and my steed,  wearing bloodied organs on your sleeve.      As if I could do more than adore in the dark      As if the physics in our physical  weren’t pure bionic spark.  I’m standing stark Naked. & I didn’t fake it This bed?— don’t make it. Because now when I get a sore from my shoe -      I'm stuck thinking of you           down in the muck, and the uck, and the goo...  I love, eww...

The Shallows was a spectacular movie, it's such an awesome movie, I honestly don't even want to remotely ruin the movie for you if you're here reading this and haven't seen it yet, but I did want to comment on the content and context of both JAWS and The Shallows , do a basic compare and contrast of the two.   JAWS was based on Peter Benchley's 1974 novel of the same tittle , a book I've actually read and here's a shocker from the book that wasn't included in the 1975 film: Police Chief Martin Brody's wife was totally having an affair with oceanographer Matt Hooper. Interesting how the sexuality of an adulteress got axed from the original plot-line , huh? * JAWS was an exceedingly male focused film and prior to the days of on-demand streaming content and binge watching on Netflix, people of my generation grew-up with re-runs. JAWS used to run non-stop on television, seemingly almost constantly while growing up. The opening scen...

Truth be told,      as if the truth is ever told It's bold, whilst you're emboldened In the streets, beholden to no one Howling for blood Loud in even louder crowds... You've forgotten That I'm Queen of the Clouds Wolves are merely beasts That grovel at mah feets I'll throw that gavel Through the glass Out onto the gravel Shrill through the shards I cast justice through the crowds Everyone cowering, no, nobody bows To the Queen of the Clouds But my will be ill quill I'll write the fucking song To save the world He's got his sister He's got his son I have no one Towering stoic Female heroic I'll get bi Break through Shackles & shrouds Because I'm the mother fuckin' Queen of the Clouds You can bring the gasoline You can bring the silver silent pellets But your palate is a plate back at my place where you'd feast upon my pelt Never even got felt up Belt stuck Carpet burns on your face Falling somewhere...

   I didn't know it was possible for a turd to cost 50 million dollars but as evidenced by Hollywood magick, it most certainly can in the form of a movie that should have never made it into production: The Nice Guys. A completely misleading trailer, it was packaged as a comedy not a mystery/crime film. Since nobody gives a shit about movie posters or their taglines anymore, except those living in a realm of nostalgia, had I known the tagline on this waste of space POS was "Nice Pair - This Summer" I wouldn't have seen it because that awful "phrasing" alone would have clued me on not wasting the two hours of my life that I can never get back.  The nice pair are certainly boobs but of the yahoo variety, however ladies and ladies, we're still going to squeeze them.  In the context of the thing that aspired to be a film, the boobs are wannabe private dicks (ha, ha - get it? "dicks" ) Holland March (Gosling) and Jackson Healty (Crowe).  But ...

T his is supposed to be like therapy or something so, read at your own risk.  I was thinking about joining a blog community specifically on abuse survivors, but it's moderated and edited, plus I read some of the hosted entries already - most of which are short, brief, mainly one time or occasional  acts.     Not to downplay one traumatic rape or two. I always told myself, it wasn't that bad, what I experienced.  Downplayed it.  But this week my PTSD was borderline disruptive.  Hate to say it but the rebirth or reboot of one of my greatest loves the 'X-Files' probably was a trigger... Anyway I just want to burp up one terrible or traumatic memory for me, whenever the compulsion drives me.  There's no sitting shotgun in this car, so climb in the back seat. My mind is Swiss-cheese.   No one I know even knows the extent.  Life is madness, disease, a wriggling mass of wormholes, my...

Cage the Elephant recently released a heavy-handed pro-female album entitled 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' and an entire critique of the album could easily be done, it is rich in complex symbolism, deployed via simplistic lyrics (makes sense since Dan Auerbach from The Black Keys assisted in production).  However o ne track that I'd like to specifically focus on from 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' is Sweetie Little Jean.     In this part of the world it's Track 2 Mess Around that is getting the most airtime on the radio, but Sweetie Little Jean  is sitting pretty as Track 3 on the album and is hands-down the most important song from Cage the Elephant's most recent compilation.  If you listen to the song without really paying attention to the lyrics, it has an old fashioned twang of a poppy unrequited love ballad.  But when you actively listen to the entire song including full absorption of the lyrics, it quickly l...