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| I have five songs available in the playlist above. They are my own. I only put five there. However, if you go to www.myspace.com/blakewolf , you can download eleven in my newest blog.
News: I am playing a concert (which will be my first) at September 22nd at The Red Cup at 8:00 p.m., ending around 9:45 p.m.. It is not for awhile, but I just found out a few days ago, and decided to post this news now.
Lastly, I am looking to buy an electric acoustic guitar. If anyone of you have one or know someone who has one, and would like to sell it, or trade it for a lapsteel guitar, please let me know. I am looking to buy one pretty soon.
Lastly, I got an iPhone, a Macbook Pro, a hair cut, a new house with my brother, and some new sun glasses. My new number is 4052136693.
Much Love,
Blake Wolf | | |
| On the day that Harvey got the paper, Louise had a boring day. Louise got up, put on a dress, looked in the mirror. Put on blue eyeshadow, and then took off the dress. Louise spent most of the day in underpants and a t-shirt. Louise looked out the window for about five seconds around 12:00 p.m., which he confuses for a.m. quite often. Lousie then turned on the radio for about fifteen seconds, searched quickly, the only options being used car commercials and Creedence. For no reason at all, Creedence sort of bothers Louise. Louise then looked at his phone and considered calling Sarah S., who reminded him of home because they were childhood friends. Upon deciding to call Sarah S., Louise decided this was a bad idea. Upon deciding to hang up, the phone started ringing, and just decided to keep on. Luckily, Sarah S. did not pick up. This was the climax of the day, the most emotional, and also the most productive, other than putting on the dress and eye make-up. Louise felt slightly secured for the rest of the day, and completely comfortable with not having taken off the eyeshadow, one of his favorite blue shades. Louise was less depressed than Harvey, but had no idea, because, of course, they had not yet met. They had only seen each other at certain liberal social gatherings. Louise was unaware of Harvey's existence at this point. Harvey had a picture with Louise in the background, but sure as hell did not know his name, and also did not know whether Louise was a man or transvestite or what. Luckily, Harvey never brought this up to Louise, ever. Regardless, Louise looked pretty that day, prettier than his girl friends, and much prettier than a picture of Judy Garland he kept by his vanity mirror. Louise's day, as all would agree if they only knew, was boring as hell. Which was unusual for most, because it was a Sunday. However, for Louise, all of this was normal fare. | | |
| Harvey woke up to the Sunday paper hitting his apartment door two days in a row, never before. Yesterday he did not get up for it. Today he did. His book was supposed to be reviewed in this one. So he got up, slowsly to not act too excited and to not startle Maria. By the time he got to the paper, though, Maria was awake, probably because of the door opening with its usual click-click. Regardless, Harvey grabbed it, walked inside, and saw she was awake. He decided to go through it, then, sequentially, page by page, in alphanumeric order.
Two and a half hours later he got to the literature portion. Maria had already gotten dressed and found her earrings and left about an hour ago, but he decided to finish the goal of getting through the paper sequentially, page by page, in alphanumeric order. This order led to his slight and quite literal depression over the next week. Because, his book had not been reviewed in this section. Even worse, there were fewer books covered than usual and most of them were current political pieces over current world affairs, mostly concerning foreign policies. So, Harvey said fuck it, and got a hair cut anyway. He promised not to cut the hair until he got some solid, material, and official feedback on his latest book. This is, of course, what he got for writing a fictionalized account of Louise and Clarkson, modern day adventurers in a world getting rapidly deeper into industrialism. Fuck, the book had many comment on political affairs and any literate person could draw parallels between Louise and Clarkson's adventures to just about any goddamned hot political event.
That hair cut only lasted about one week though. The following week his book had been reviewed. They gave it three out of five stars, and the headline read "Local Author Gets Kicks Out Of Conventionalism." Oh well, the hair cut had come, which brought about fortunes greater than having an official book review in a big city paper, even for narcissistic Harv. The hair cut was even more noticable than the first, and got him noticed by special people who he'd been hoping would notice him. He had hoped they would ask about his unruly mane so that way he could lay down the fact that the greatest goddamned piece of epic literature ever had been written by him. But, he didn't get noticed until he got his hair cut because of a mild review from a paper from a city that, truthfully, wasn't that great at all. The particular person who noticed his hair who changed everything wasn't even from Harvey's hometown. And yes, his name was Louise. | | |
| Jews (or partially Jewish individuals) that I would not mind kissing: Bob Dylan  Woody Allen  Elvis Presley _02.jpg) Allen Ginsberg  Gene Wilder  Paul Simon  PETER Sellers  Scarlett Johansson  Dustin Hoffman  Lou Reed  Carole King  George and Ira Gershwin  Leonard Cohen  Robbie Robertson  (with Bob Dylan) Marty Balin, Jorma Kaukonen, and Jack Casady (of Jefferson Airplane)  ,  ,  Jenny Lewis  Adam Green  Jason Schwartzman  Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaals  ,  Adrien Brody  Charlotte Gainsbourg  Mama Cass Elliot  Natalie Portman  Joaquin Phoenix .jpg/465px-Joaquin_Phoenix_(2005).jpg) Helena Bonham Carter  (with Edward Norton [techinically, not a Jew]) Billy Crystal  Winona Ryder  Jerry Seinfeld  Sarah Silverman  Jon Stewart  Mirah  Tiny Tim  Arlo Guthrie  Jakob Dylan  | | |
| People I would not mind kissing, by the decade: The 1950s Editor's Note: I understand that many of the males on this list more than likely would not knowingly, willingly accept a kiss from Blake Wolf, male, unless of course, it was a Post-World War II European influenced friendly kiss, more than likely on the cheek (but, at the last second, I WOULD GO STRAIGHT FOR THE MOUTH!)  Adlai E. Stevenson II (who I dressed up as to the midnight viewing of Spiderman 3--EDITOR'S NOTE: Adlai was a bigger success than the masked)
 Junior Senator Joseph McCarthy, who may or may not be wearing eyeliner in this photograph (first lacing my lips with the avian influenza, thus embalming his oral orifice with the "bird flu." What a cunt he was, and his living legacy is very cunted upon, justly, rightfully so. English is an inefficient language tool to describe the monstrous miseries of this unnecessary and god-willedly expended evil. I have spent an unquantifiable amount of tears over the life of this sub-human, and an equally unquantifiable amount of liquid ejaculated over the pleasure of the death of this formerly-respected untouchable. Did you suffer much, Junior Senator? I hope so. “Have you no shame?” Of course not, you son of a bitch.) What are you going to do, blacklist me?
 Arthur Miller
 1956 Elvis Presley (or 1957 Jailhouse Rock Elvis [but not Elvis])
 James Dean the icon and/or James Franco playing James Dean in James Dean (not deformed Harry Osborn).
 (this picture is redundant and added solely for personal edification and gratification)
 Rick Blaine
 Naturally following, Ingrid Bergman
 Naturally following (or leading) Ingmar Bergman
 Judy Garland (most preferably during her days, however barbituated, prior to the 1961 Carnegie Hall concert--alas, I missed her on the 1960s list)
 Howard Hughes (I would offer financial compensation, regardless of the futility of such a task)
 Katharine Hepburn (1949 Adam's Rib would be acceptable, alas, I imagine I will not get around to a 1940s list)
 Naturally following (or, chronologically, prior to) Spencer Tracy
 Pete Seeger (an obvious choice, but necessary)
 E. Murrow (another obvious choice, another necessity for the list)
 Dooley Wilson (of "Play it, Sam" fame, completing the Casablanca triumvirate)
 Victor Laszlo (the finale of the Casablanca quadron)
 Brigitte Bardot (I list this with an acceptance of my hypocrisy [see below]. I do and do not apologise.)
 Buddy Holly, an appropriate ending, as his death marks "The Day the Music Died," and the death of what was great about the 1950s. Rest in Peace, Rock 'n' Roll - February 3, 1959.
An ending note (or, commentary): I would rather empty my veins and fill them with ink than put Marilyn Monroe on this list. I desperately wish I did not even have to say it. However, I felt as though she was the big elephant in the room of the 1950s (an elephant? but with more metaphorical weight and a lesser intellect). Marilyn Monroe was an object, one of the first, most highly publicized American objects since the invented baseball or bifocals. Despite her as an invention, created solely to provide comfort to her otherwise uncomfortable manipulators and consumers, she is highly valued (while those doing the valuing, apparently, hardly know the true word). Marilyn Monroe stands for what was done to women (or in this case, done to themselves—or could one really blame her? was she duped? told that she was valued, when she was only as valued as an objectified armchair?) to a near degree to that which Easter represents the bastardization of Paganism and traditional, Pagan holidays (more traditional than “traditional, holy” holidays, such as Easter). That having been said, she did have nice tits. That’s about the best that anyone can say. Oh yeah, and she fucked Arthur Miller (see above). Who can blame her? (see above) In loving memory of those blacklisted, specifically The Hollywood Ten. Yet all of the love and respect extends to every single human artistically crucified and martyed for the cause of free thought/speech. And lastly, the Rosenbergs. May the gods save the souls of the Rosenbergs, two of the chosen people of God, according to untraditionally common, traditional Jewish folk tale. 
The Hollywood Ten 
The Rosenbergs | | |
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