Month: March 2014

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

The Gold, the Glitz
the all empowering artifice.
The Devils, the Angels,
the Great Cross.

The Blood, the Body
the Pain, the Torment, the Punishment

Massive, encompassing, everlasting, overwhelming
and painted in two simple colors:
Black and White
Right and Wrong
Yes and No

Believe in the Power of the Lord
and you will be saved, my Son.

Believe in the Power of the gold,
of the domed roof stretching to the infinitus heavens.

Believe in the Cross that can see all of your
debased thoughts before they ever
pop into your consciousness.

You are a carrier of Evil,
and there is only one way
through to Salvation and Peace: My Way
The Way of God

Can you see them with their heads bowed,
mumbling my incantations in foreign tongue?

Can you feel their lustful desire of hope and
happiness and security billowing out
and expanding the room with inflated self-worth?

Can you see their pious movements-
the kneeling, the forming of the cross upon the chest, the bowed head-
and know they have given themselves to a life of servitude?

Hear the organ play, my Son.
Hear my call.

Fear me for I am All
and you are but a lost speck of dust searching for a bin to call home.

‘The Tree of Life’ Breaks the Cardinal Rule of Cinema


Hey, I’m all for ponderous, overwrought films that slowly sink under the weight of their own monotony as much as the next perpetually hungover, country raised, hipster film addict, but there does come a point – perhaps sometime between the third and fourth checking of the film’s progress – that you think to yourself, “Self. This is an incredibly boring movie. Why do I continue to torture myself?”

And, of course, you may start a tennis match conversation with your own consciousness –

“Turn it off.”

“Hey there’s only… only 45 minutes left… Let’s just finish it.”

“Turn it off! It’s so boring. Uhh.”

“There’s not much left, and it got really good reviews.”

“Oh God, I want to die. I just… I just want to die. Like right… right now.”

It’s a laborious thing to argue with oneself, and doubly so when half of the mental arguers seem to be suicidal; it is not an endeavor that should be undertaken lightly.

More at –

Days of Being Wild (1990)

8.5/10 – Grilled Seal of Approval

Days of Being Wild (1990)


I think it’s about time I just came out and said it; Wong Kar-Wai is my favorite director.

There aren’t many directors who can consistently make awesome movies. Tarantino comes to mind, and perhaps his track record is even better because he has had absolutely no major (or even minor for that matter) missteps, while Kar-Wai has the harsh glare of the American 2007 drama-romance My Blueberry Nights in his portfolio.

Blueberry Nights was Kar-Wai’s first (and last?) English speaking film and was a critical and commercial failure. As a matter of full disclosure I will say that I have never actually seen the film. As an additional matter of full disclosure I’ll say that I hope to never see it and have my opinion of Kar-Wai negatively affected.

But anyway, Days of Being Wild. That’s what we’re here to talk about, isn’t it? That’s what you all signed up for? That’s why you found your way to my gloomy auditorium in the basement of this decrepit high school? Isn’t it?

And who told you anyway? I never did. Certainly not! This was not supposed to be a public affair, and, frankly, I’m quite perturbed. I expected to come down here and discuss the finer points of a film most Americans have never heard of by a director most Americans have never heard of in the comfortable silence that occurs without an audience.



Bite my lip and burrow my sweaty palms in the pockets of my pants and wipe clean the evidence (though scant may it be to onlookers) that damns me for letting words spill out of my mouth that are not direct truths, but carefully composed misdirections.

Keep it clean. Keep it simple. Keep it safe.

Focus on the trivialities. Keep your eyes averted.

Control. Control. Control.

How many nights have I fallen into her trap? She glistens under a spotlight moon, the sparkles in her hair send beams bouncing around the room and into the eyes and hearts of a thousand desperate men, and none more desperate than I.


OkCupid Experiment: Part 3

So, I have begun looking at some of the messages that were sent to my bizarre sexual deviant fake OkCupid profile.
They are glorious.
If only Jesse was real, she could make a great many strange men very, very happy.

These shall be presented in their unedited form, of course.
Names concealed to protect the “innocent.”

“I am blinded that I couldn’t see myself with anyone else, I saw your profile and I thought wow I am attracted at first sight”
— Ooo profound. I wonder if this kind of copy/paste statement actually works on girls?


OkCupid Experiment: Part 2

Alright folks. I know you’ve been eagerly refreshing GrilledLife in hopes of seeing the next installment of my OkCupid experiment.

I have decided not to throw the complete profile up here. Just for the sake of time and effort I will pick out a selection of the best “bits” and use them. But, of course, if I receive a deluge of requests I will upload everything.

And after about 48 hours my message received count has slowed to a paltry, paltry 64.

So, without further ado, I present the most twisted perverse deviant living in Brooklyn, Jesse:


Girls Season 3 (2014)



Girls, we hardly knew ya. You had a beautiful two season run. A beautiful collection of awkward stories and mid-20s confusion and apathy and interest in all the right places.

And, sadly, at this time we ring the bell – the death knell that is. Girls, season three, has officially “jumped the shark.” Feel free to cry or whine or beg or steal. Feel free to gloss over the weaknesses of this season. Feel free to deny and curse and shout and stand up bellowing, “No! Girls is still a great show! Season three was the best yet! I can’t wait for next season.”


Glad to be of Service

Dirty laundry, decaying newspapers,
Chinese take-out boxes, and stained sheets.
Plates stacked under the bed, glasses perched on the nearby table
teetering, waiting to tip and spill and tumble and crunch into the floorboards
“Don’t take them off,” she tells me.
She means my shoes,
and I take her advice.

We slide into bed,
cocoon inside the mess,
and push the trash against the wall.
There’s something poking sharply into my back –
a self-improvement book. “Stupid,” I think.
She takes off her skirt and her blouse and her bra
and drops her panties down past her knees and around the
rainbow painted hiking boots still laced and snug around her little feet.

She smells like cigarettes and magazine perfume and curry, but her lips are soft
and her eyes smile and dance and I can see my own goofy
face staring back: a dirty beard, sunken eyes, greasy hair
and a foolish grin and reasonably straight
whitish-yellow teeth that chatter incessantly
when I’m nervous or when I’m trying
to impress someone.
(They often chatter.)


Mixtapes: Part 2

Of course, there are many mixtapes I’ve made over the years, and I can’t help but diving back into this topic.

So, let’s take a look at some of my Greatest Hits over the years. I have lost some of my mixes, but they were mostly shitty anyway so I’m not too worried about that.

Gangsta Grande Grillz GRIP GRIP GRIP GRIP – For most of my mixtapes, a bizarre and unnecessarily long title is usually present.  This is a 51 song playlist that I made based on news there would be a way to play music at the after party of my sister’s wedding.