Friday, July 23, 2010


Ive been real sick for the past few days, but in a positive spin on the whole ordeal, I managed to read an entire novella in around 3 days.

The latest installment from Bret Easton Ellis, following 'Less Than Zero' a tidy tome Ellen referred me to, which documents the fucked up lives of Los Angeles' youth.

'Imperial Bedrooms' is a follow up to 'Less than Zero' that really had me biting my nails as trite as that may seem. From the first book to the next is just like a literary game of cluedo and without the snarky cliched kind of murder mystery vibe, but more like a well written intelligent spin that is molded into the character's lives.

One thing I absolutely adore about Bret Easton Ellis' style of writing is that he can sum up the jaded notions of any era with just a candid and witty line, for instance, in 'Imperial Bedrooms' he is referring to two models whom he spent time with in New York, but gets confused by the looks they give him summing it up with:

"I didnt even sleep with them. All we did was snort coke and watch The Hills."

That line stirred my inner cynic and tantalised every jaded nerve ending in my brain.

From being mentally stimulated and actually feeling like I could make love to a book (although I wouldnt even want to address the paper cut situation), to hearing endlessly about the spectacle that is 'celebrity' and their 'books'.

It is not just a known fact that print media is on it's way out, but do celebrities and fame have to kill every possible thing that should be kept pure in theory? Like literature?

Another fucking book about how some celebrity found out what crystal meth meant to them, but then have some 85 year old boat captain to thank for getting them on the right track with a 15 page spread showcasing their snatch and nipples that have been stretched tighter than Tommy-Lee's drum kit in order to fit the DD's that helped her get there.

Books are coming out as regularly as perfumes are for J-lo or Kylie Minogue. And just like the perfumes, they are overpriced, filled with dust and smell kind of like what you'd imagine a lady of the night's undies would smell like after an 18 hour shift on Darlinghurst Rd.

I just seems as though all these 'celebrities' feel the need to not only put out their own perfume, reality TV show, biography, clothing line, Hit No.1 single and then act as thought they give a shit about what the fans think, while they dumb them down in order to get their mooonnneeeyyyy.

I almost feel insulted that it is on the shelves beckoning for you $35.95

I suppose it is worth it if i ever become "cool" and use the pages to start rolling my own cigarettes.

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