Picking A Fight With Durban...

Lately, I've been talking with Durban, the possibility of a collaboration of sorts. He knows as well as I do, I've been circling wagons around the next project...

Three days ago, he sent me this e-mail. When it comes to Durban, there's no real need to paraphrase. He's always short and usually un-sweet. It said exactly, "Burn, you cunt. You need me. Let's roll."

I was thinking about writing something light and easy and funny after the weight of Kim and Val, something I could spit out and then sit back, allow my dancing words to woo. When Durban heard this, his reply, "Burn, if I could reach through this computer and fist-fuck your face. Stop running. We're the same."

I love that he uses a dash between fist and fuck.

He started kicking ideas and I'd kick back and he'd kick and I'd kick. Every time, every idea kept narrowing, coming back to the same place -- our world, as we know it...over, ended. Something about it always works for me, obviously always works for him. The end result of whatever comes of this will likely be the absolute opposite of what I thought my next step would be, but I'm on board, I'm gonna "roll."

I try not to think too long on logistics - between the benders he claims are over and the destructing women and the infinite travel itinerary. In the back of my mind, I know he's gonna be my polish - the yin to my yang, the sour to my sweet. We'll lay the groundwork...I'll write...he'll finish. And as phantom as he is, he always seems to be there when I need him. And I respect his words...even if he is absolutely the most ridiculous person I have ever known. Absolutely - and he'll read that last sentence and wear my words like a shiny new badge. Just don't ever ask him to admit it.

Fucking Durban...