Further to my totally awesome and extended post on Monday, and further proof that I’m an idle so and so, I just direct you to Neddie’s amanuensis. Of course, he writes a lot less purty than the Nedster, but who can quarrel with:
You drown in a sea of Rank Bullshit. It shrieks at you every day from field and fountain, moor and mountain. And it pains me to say it, but the longer we humans live, the greater the reservoir of accumulated knowledge, the easier it becomes for Bullshit to hold sway. You know the phrase, the cocksucker “knows just fuckin’ enough to be dangerous”? That’s humanity’s fuckin’ epitaph, boys. That’s what the the cockroaches will carve on your tombstone when it’s time to plow under the blackened subdivisions and the crusted industrial parks and let the cocksucking cupboard pests take over.
Actually, the idleness thing is interesting. Well, I say it is, because it makes me feel better. But the point is that I am involved right now, for the past three weeks, and for at least another couple of weeks, in work of such stupefying lack of inner satisfaction at the Job That Dare Not Speak Its Name that you would think I’d be itching to get home and get some real writing done. But I’m not. I lie around, wondering which plug-hole my creative energy drained out of, and parasitizing fine people like Neddie.
Oh well, someone has to do it.
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Neddie don’t mind. Neddie’s flattered.
It’s August. It’s hot. Forgive yourself.
My “amanuensis” for that particular post was a fella named Al Swearengen, who’s played by elemental force of nature Ian McShane in a two-seasons-old HBO production called “Deadwood.” I rather doubt it’s made it to your corner of Italy yet, but do be on the lookout for it, because it’s the finest thing to come out of the American televisual mind since “The Sopranos,” and to this jaded viewer it makes even that very fine show look slightly pale.
The chief joy of Deadwood is the dialogue, which teeters on that fine tightrope between the angelically exalted and the cheerfully cloacal — identifying the two extremes in much the same melting pot as that employed by your man Shakespeare, to whom I swear “Deadwood” might be profitably compared. Yes, it’s that good.
I’ve been working on a Swearengen impression to break out at parties. That post was an attempt to master Al’s idiosyncratic approach to Victorian diction, I think. Either that, or the Percocet’s taken over.