Most nights in my early teens I would lay awake in my room too anxious to fall asleep.

As a way of trying to shut out the imagery in my head I would focus on certain points in the room; the corner to the left of the closet, the center of the ceiling, the edge of the open door.

On nights that seemed worse than others, my dad would let me lay on the couch in the living room and watch reruns of M*A*S*H with him.

Usually, I would lay there with my head hanging off of the edge of the couch listening to the recorded laughing coming from the periphery of the intended view of each scene, staring at his face looking at the thing, a blue light sort of flickering in and out around his glasses.

My mom would clear her throat in the other room.

Over a decade later and it is still difficult for me to fall asleep without blue light and intermittent electronic laughter.

* * * * * * *

(Re Charles Douglass' "laff box")

"The one-of-a-kind device -- affectionately known in the industry as the "laff box" -- was tightly secured with padlocks, stood more than two feet tall, and operated like an organ. Only immediate members of the family knew what the inside actually looked like (at one time, the "laff box" was called "the most sought after but well-concealed box in the world"). Since more than one member of the Douglass family was involved in the editing process, it was natural for one member to react differently to a joke than another. Charley himself was the most conservative of all, so producers would put in bids for other editors who were more liberal in their choice of laughter. Douglass used a keyboard to select the style, gender and age of the laugh as well as a foot pedal to time the length of the reaction. Inside the machine was a wide array of recorded chuckles, yocks, and belly laughs; exactly 320 laughs on 32 tape loops, 10 to a loop. Each loop contained 10 individual audience laughs spliced end-to-end, whirling around simultaneously waiting to be cued up. Since the tapes were looped, laughs were played in the same order repeatedly. Sound engineers would watch sitcoms and knew exactly which recurrent guffaws were next, even if they were viewing an episode for the first time. Frequently, Douglass would combine different laughs, either long or short in length. Attentive viewers could spot when he decided to mix chuckles together to give the effect of a more diverse audience."

"The modern equivalent of the laff box is a digital device approximately the size of a laptop computer which contains hundreds of human sounds."


Hogan's Heroes
Broadcasted from September 17, 1965, to April 4, 1971
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 168













"Network research suggested that the laugh track was required in order to brand a single-camera show as a comedy. The experiment to see if a comedy fared better with a laugh track was tested in 1965 when CBS showed its new single-camera sitcom Hogan's Heroes to test audiences in two versions: one with the laugh track, the other without. Partly due to the somewhat cerebral nature of the show's humor, the version without the laugh track failed while the version with laughter succeeded. The show was broadcast with the laugh track, and CBS utilized a laugh track for all comedies afterwards."

Bewitched

Broadcasted from September 17, 1964 to March 25, 1972
Network: ABC
No. of Episodes: 254

"Sol Saks, who received credit as the creator of the show, wrote the pilot of Bewitched though he was not involved with the show after the pilot. Creator Saks, executive producer Harry Ackerman, and director William Asher started filming the pilot on November 22, 1963; it coincided with the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Asher felt personally affected by the event as he knew Kennedy, he had produced the 1962 televised birthday party where Marilyn Monroe sang Happy Birthday, Mr. President. But the show had to go on. The pilot concerned "the occult destabilization of the conformist life of an upworldly mobile advertising man". 

The Munsters
Broadcasted from September 24, 1964, to May 12, 1966
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 70

The Beverly Hillbillies
Broadcasted from September 26, 1962 to March 23, 1971
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 274

"The ninth season during the 1970–71 television season placed 33rd out of 96 shows. Despite the respectable ratings, the show was cancelled in the spring of 1971 after 274 episodes. The CBS network, prompted by pressure from advertisers seeking a more sophisticated urban audience, decided to refocus its schedule on several "hip" new urban-themed shows and, to make room for them, all of CBS's rural-themed comedies were simultaneously cancelled. This action came to be known as "the Rural Purge". Pat Buttram, who played Mr. Haney on Green Acres, famously remarked, "It was the year CBS killed everything with a tree in it."

The Andy Griffith Show
Broadcasted from October 3, 1960 to April 1, 1968
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 249

In 2013, TV Guide ranked The Andy Griffith Show #15 on their list of the 60 Greatest Shows of All Time.

The Brady Bunch
Broadcasted from September 26, 1969, to March 8, 1974
Network: ABC
No. of episodes: 117

M*A*S*H
Broadcasted from September 17, 1972, to February 28, 1983
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 256

The opening//ending theme to the show is a song called "suicide is painless".

I Love Lucy
Broadcasted from October 15, 1951, to May 6, 1957
Network: CBS
No. of episodes: 181

I love Lucy and she loves me.
We're as happy as two can be.
Sometimes we quarrel but then
How we love making up again.
Lucy kisses like no one can.
She's my missus and I'm her man,
And life is heaven you see,'Cause I love Lucy, 
Yes I love Lucy, and Lucy loves me!

The Flintstones
Broadcasted from September 30, 1960, to April 1, 1966
Network: ABC
No. of episodes: 167

"The first two seasons were co-sponsored by Winston Cigarettes and the characters appeared in several black and white television commercials for Winston (dictated by the custom, at that time, that the star(s) of a TV series often "pitched" their sponsor's product in an "integrated commercial" at the end of the episode."

The Muppet Show
Broadcasted from September 5, 1976 to March 15, 1981
Network: syndicated broadcast
No. of episodes: 120

A guest star never appeared twice on the muppet show.

The Odd Couple (first season only)
Broadcasted from September 24, 1970, to March 7, 1975
Network: ABC
No. of episodes: 114

Roseanne
Broadcasted from October 18, 1988, to May 20, 1997
Network: ABC
No. of episodes: 222

Seinfeld
Broadcasted from July 5, 1989, to May 14, 1998. 
Network: NBC
No. of episodes: 180

"As a body, the lexicon of Seinfeldian code words and recurring phrases that evolved around particular episodes is referred to as Seinlanguage."



Frasier
Broadcasted from September 16, 1993, to May 13, 2004
Network: NBC
No. of episodes: 264

Moose, the dog who played Eddie, received more fan mail than any other actor on the show.

Friends
Broadcasted from September 22, 1994, to May 6, 2004
Network: NBC
No. of episodes: 236

"Although the producers thought of Friends as "only a TV show", numerous psychologists investigated the cultural impact of Friendsduring the series' run. Aniston's hairstyle was nicknamed "The Rachel", and copied around the world. Joey's catchphrase, "How you doin'?", became a popular part of Western English slang, often used as a pick-up line or when greeting friends. The series also influenced the English language, according to a study by the University of Toronto that found that the characters used the emphasized word "so" to modify adjectives more often than any other intensifier. Although the preference had already made its way into the American vernacular, usage on the series may have accelerated the change. Perry's habit of ending a sentence unfinished for sarcasm also influenced viewers' speech. Following the September 11 attacks, ratings increased 17% over the previous season."

A list of songs I listened to this week while freaking out

For a majority of the week I have spent most of my time either sitting on my bed staring at a blank word document or compulsively cleaning my apartment. Yesterday I washed my hands a total of 57 times and brushed my teeth 7 times. Feel like the MVP of 'never ever sleeping'. Feel like a fucking champ. I have also been fighting a major meltdown with all of the heat in my brain that I think is in there. 

There is always all this noise. People in my building open and close their doors. People in my neighborhood mow their lawns. My phone vibrates. The refrigerator occasionally makes a sound. 

The worst part about this is there is constant motion. There are 7 billion and something different realities that are not mine. People are living lives without me. 

I feel music helps. It helps create an illusion in my head of some sort of pause I think. I listen to the same songs over and over again. Sometimes I sort of dance around in my room and then realize my curtains are open.

                                Girls // Alex

                  Beach Fossils // Clash the Truth

              Courtney Barnett // Avant Gardener

                            Sonic Youth // JC

                        Pallbearer // Foreigner

             Yo La Tengo // And the Glitter is Gone

    Merle Haggard // I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink

                   Real Estate // Green Aisles

                      Black Flag // Six Pack

              The Body // Song of Sarin the Brave

                    Land of Talk // It's Okay

                      The Fall // Big New Prinz

I read and re-read Dennis Cooper's Lecture, 1970

Lecture, 1970

"I know men who would kill you for sitting in this room. From here you look dulled, like a hundred workers glancing up from the machines of your thinking. You put the fire out with your meals. The best people are thin, bones distorting their skin. You should be able to pick them out easily, tear off their shirts, get a firm grip around one rib, and rip. I know men who have thought about going that far. They are guys you could worship, usually blond. Blonds are an angelic race. It doesn't take acid to know this. When I was in Holland every blond was in love with every other. Bouquets of them stood on the corners. They seemed above life. In Paris, people are as alive as if they've just been stabbed, as if they're running for help everywhere they go. You have to close your eyes after a while. You have to read about them. New York is sort of the same, but with death like a permanent night thrown over the place. The French wouldn't step over a dying drunk. They'd kick his mouth into a shoe and walk a block that way.

Here in Los Angeles we're halfway there. The highlights of some of your lives are dimmer than a French baby's dreams. You could wear a shirt that reads, 'My existence on this planet is a total humiliation to me. End my life, please!' And some asshole would calm you down, slow you down. He'd ask you to sniff flowers and urinate for over a minute. In France you would die. They really live there. Men in subways who lie behind money cups with their toeless feet propped up are either given a hundred francs or beaten. None of this 'look away' shit. Nothing to stare at. Those guys are more alive than you could ever be. They want to die because they've peaked. They breathe the exhaust off the five o'clock train, the sweat off hurrying backs. Their lungs should be filled with robes. You and I should feel constant pain. We should die of cancer for sixty years. Childhood is free. You can float around until you're seventeen. Then your stomach will burn, or you will lose one hand in a light boating accident, or be paralyzed from the waist down.

A wise man told me that I'm wasting my life. I am. So are my friends. I have a friend whose mind could cure death, but he watches TV all day. He gave up. He should be killed. I'd do it, but there's a law. I'm caught by these things. You can say, 'He'll get tired of lounging around,' but he won't. I had a dream that I was going to die, which is obviously true. But I have not left these pages for my dreams. I cannot eat a hammer like Rimbaud did. It can't be done. What Rimbaud tried to do is a Bible. You and I should read it like we read Mario Puzo, not like we read Sade or Céline. It should breeze through our eyes. But we are not our younger brothers, thoughts deep in their clear brows. We are not pure. We cannot listen. Children would and should kill us. We could and won't nail a few of them to the walls. I want them around me all the time.

None of you will get out. Some of you may be brilliant. I haven't found you, and I won't gut myself so that brighter eyes open inches above yours. If you are young and beautiful, let's go to bed together while our asses still quench our jeans when we wear them tight, while we can worship our hair. In France old people are idols. In America they're not. Neither of us are right. The French may walk in the shadow of Lautréamont. The Dutch may drive clouds. None of us are right. What is right is that we walk toward lamps and eat animals. When we actually close our hands over lights and set plates in our toilets we will be honestly great. Until then the most religious thing to do is slobber at slenderer bodies, look twenty all our lives. No matter what we do we will not poison the air or each other. We'll get used to it. We cannot, like the French, live so strongly that we're constantly putting out fires on our arms. So let's stand children on our shoulders and walk into the Century Plaza Hotel, and let's be greeted by gods."

////  I have known about Dennis Cooper for a while. Through web presence mostly. I never got around to reading him until recently. I found Wrong and The Dream Police at a bookstore. I bought them. I read the first two stories from Wrong. I read Dream Police in one sitting. I read it again in the same sitting. I flipped to Lecture, 1970 and read it for a third time and felt things. I read it again and felt different things. I read it again and felt a of mix of the things I felt the first two times I read it and new ones. I read it again.
I have trouble writing critically about art. I don't really know how to. I can never get the language right or something. Just writing about writing critically right now makes me want to delete this whole thing and bury it in code. So I'm not going to do it and I'm not going to do it ever probably and that's cool.
What I want art to do is beat me to death. With images or sounds or words or whatever. And so I sat there masochistically reading from Dennis Cooper's books feeling bludgeoned and ripped and cut apart. And then all that heals and scabs over and I somehow feel better about everything.