“In full knowledge of impending doom the excesses become increasingly bizarre.” Tinto Brass.

Your average Italian is one stricken with foolish bravado.  An ego passed down, and eagerly adorned with little in the way of justification or explanation.  Like a trust fund child on main street with a platinum credit card in her left hand and a flopping tit in her right.  Above the law and full of drugs I could only dream of at 3am on this dull Monday night nearing the last sip of this tall can of Old Milwaukee.

That italian fiend, so commonly in love with it’s “roots” as to become oblivious to the fact that it is simply one in a row of withered weeds growing off in the distant shadow of the great rotting decaying tree of deceit and lies it calls its golden heritage.  The sun has set my Nimrod friend.  The devils can hide in the burning fires of the light.  But in the dark the reptile spawn will shine and smoke like a doberman orgy fueled by lightning.  Tits like Halley’s comet, Puss like lakes of fire and dicks like Tesla Coils from hell…No cover under the extending Universe tonight old chum.  Take heed, the stomach of the shark is your destiny, it is what you deserve.

But sometimes a golden creature looms out of the ash stained mist.  A true visionary.  Of course, I speak of Tinto Brass.  The famed Italian director.  Creator of such legendary titles as: Do It!, The Artful Penetration of Barbara and Nunsploitation.

Pay no heed to my prejudice and wallow in Tinto’s wisdom.

“A face can lie, a derriére cannot …A face can be painted over with make-up, conceal its age or impurities; a mouth can spew cruel lies. A butt is definitely more honest than that.”

They call him Tinto Ass.

A Woody Allen interview from the seventies. It’s four parts, but I’m only posting the first part, if you want more you can find the rest. It’s funny, but an hour is a bit much.  Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

I have been trying to get some music to work for my new movie.  Here are a couple of songs I’ve been playing with, Their lost, nothing is locking right now.  The explosion when things lock in place and vibrate and make the world seem bearable is not happening, I feel a rumble in my head, but it’s more like a head-ache.  But I still hear something that at least might lead to something else, sometime, when I really drink and the beer drowns the pain of the headache and the sound breaks through the wall and fills the dark.  But that is just a deception and reality is nothing but a frigid mirage.  Either way, Oh fuck it.

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Another part from the Lynch on Lynch book where he talks about a deleted scene from Blue Velvet.  It sound’s Aye yi yi yi yi yi.

Although you weren’t required to cut any scenes out of the film, I gather you removed some yourself at an earlier stage. One sounded similar to the scene in ERASERHEAD with the two women tied to the bed. Something about a woman setting her nipples on fire?

Right. That’s one of my favourite scenes, but it was too much of a good thing. I wanna get this scene back, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t wanna reinstate it, but I want it to be its own little piece. It could be three or four minutes long. It was completely cut out. It was a kind of a companion piece to Ben’s apartment.

What actually happens?

Well, Frank brings the guys and Jeffrey to the bar and they have the talk outside: ‘What kind of beer do you like?’ etc., etc., and then they enter Ben’s place. But there was another scene inside the bar where the bartender sees Frank and signals to someone who starts running for the back door. Frank yells, ‘Get him!’ and they grab this guy Willard. The back room can be seen from the bar but it’s sorta separated. There’s a pool table back there and another guy who has a hat with ‘I dig coal’ written on it. He’s this old, black blues guitar player and he’s got a white guy playing with him. And ‘I dig coal’ can sing these songs that’re just incredible. And then there are three or four completely nude girls back there who’ve been with Willard. They’ve been, you know, into something back there that’s broken up by Willard seeing Frank. But you don’t know what the problem is.
Meanwhile, the Brad Dourif character goes and orders one case of ‘Pabst Blue Ribbon L-o-n-g Neck’. [Laughs.] So Frank throws Willard down on the pool table, and he starts talking to him about the fact that Willard tore his pocket and he says to the girls, ‘Come here and take a look at a dead man.’ Willard is, you know, in bad trouble: Frank has him where he wants him, mentally, and Willard knows that he’s gonna get it. Some time. Then Frank goes upstairs. Everybody goes round the pool table on their way upstairs and Jack Nance says to Willard, ‘See ya, Winky,’ and they disappear. You hold there for a little while and ‘Winky’ sits up. This one girl has been sitting there and she strikes a match and lights her nipples on fire and says, ‘You’re really going up in flames this time, motherfucker!’ [Laughs.] And so that’s how it ends.

And the part of Willard was completely lost?

Completely lost. It had reference to….Jeffrey finds the ear in this field. Well, Frank had it in his pocket and he got into some altercation with Willard and his pocket was torn, so he lost the ear and his lucky piece of blue velvet. There are two cuts in Dorothy’s robe. One of them was made to replace the lucky piece - the one that he has in the bar when he, you know, works it. Anyway, all that wasn’t necessary. It actually took away from the scene upstairs in Ben’s apartment because it was, as I said, ‘too much of a good thing’.

An excerpt from the book Lynch on Lynch.

I don’t like to use the phrase ‘political correctness’ because I think it is an invention of the Right, but what does that phrase meant to you?

I’ll tell you what it means: it’s almost an evil, satanic plot! It’s a diabolical thing. It’s this false way of not offending anyone. To be politically correct is to be so sort of lukewarm, and in this weird little spot where there’s no offence committed. It’s like hiding.

I was cleaning out my bookmarks and I found this NYTimes interview with Mickey Rourke.  Pretty good.

Mickey Rourke Interview.

I also had this saved about an encounter between him and Jessica Alba.  It was titled Alba’s Rourke Disgust.  It’s fawking amazing.

This feels weird. Call the cops.

An interview with P.T. Anderson where he eats pizza and discusses porn among many other things.