Nothing Is Real

The current title of my novel is THE VALLEY. That's where the bulk of the action takes place. Or, well, I don't know. I never tried to turn it into a pie chart. It takes detours through Compton, Downtown, Chinatown, the River, and beyond.

(BTW, if I find out any of you growing number of Hollywood screenwriters who read this site steal my shit, I will personally fucking beat your fucking ass.)

Previously, the novel was called HAPPY. That's the first name of one of the characters in the book. It's sort of ironic. Don't you think? But who knows from ironic when all there is is a big word on the front of a book? And irony is dead. Or something. Anyway, HAPPY died. The title. Not the person. Who isn't real.

Recently, I've grown enamored with NOTHING IS REAL BUT THE GIRL. I spotted it on LUMINOL. It's a track from Blondie's 1999 "comeback" album, No Exit.

Nothing is real but the girl.
Nothing is real but her.

I hear you, sister.

Secretly, I would like to title it HOMO SACER. But that's already taken. And it doesn't really pass the subway test.

The sacred man is the one whom the people have judged on account of a crime. It is not permitted to sacrifice this man, yet he who kills him will not be condemned for homicide; in the first tribunitian law, in fact, it is noted that "if someone kills the one who is sacred according to the plebiscite, it will not be considered homicide." This is why it is customary for a bad or impure man to be called sacred. -- Homo Sacer

There are a lot of songs in my book -- well, not a lot, maybe, but more than you'd think -- or more than I'd think. Songs about unshakable faith, and stupid girls, and running away. It's got a soundtrack. I made it in my head.

Did you know David Lynch is on Twitter?

If you wanna catch the big fish, you gotta go deeper. -- Lynch

Not long ago, I fell into a black hole of depression. Today, I went to yoga. I am trying to climb my way out.