Day 7 @ 7:24pm there are 28627 words. I feel slightly better than yesterday as the energy of PART TWO is rather different from the first and is birthing babies in my sternum or something. I realized last night I haven't remembered any dreams since I started this which is unusual for me and a strange kind of silence.
This book is very 'bleak,' probably in parts more bleak and evil than anything I have written, but also I think funny. My funny, which is not always others' funny.
I feel like I am writing the closest thing to a Lynchian novel that I've seen. I feel like I am getting out all the 'evil' in me in this writing and when it is done (hopefully by Friday, first draft anyway) I will be expunged and good things are going to happen. I have a lot of evil to get out.
Today I want to call the novel: I AM THE ONLY BLACK GOD, which is an ODB lyric.
I tend to like to shoot myself in the foot, at least in the eyes of industry-types, though I think a lot of people would buy I AM THE ONLY BLACK GOD with a picture of an enormous antbed inside a living room or a child covered in mold on the cover.
I would buy the fuck out of that.
I would also buy a book with this cover:
No title. The picture is the title.
No matter what else I say in the future, the title of my novel is that picture forever.
Other things are about to happen.
My stuff is being packed and moved for me by some company the HOA hired. I was not allowed to pack or move my own stuff because they had a contract. They said I could come watch them pack my stuff. Tuesday I get to go watch them put it on a truck. I can choose between them putting it in a cubicle where I have 5 days to get it out or I can bring a truck for them to put it on and take it somewhere myself. Somebody from FEMA wants to inspect the place for the 3rd time now. They are waiting to see something in the walls unfold. They are waiting for me burst.