It seems relationships may be the theme for the day.
Thank you, George Herbert; while I appreciate your statement, I cannot say that I agree. I first ran across that quote when I was in elementary school. You see, attending a school for nerds is a double-edged sword: on one edge, you are an easy target for bullies – they know where to find you. The other edge gives you tools: vocabulary, insight, literacy, etc. that give you a means to wittily assail those who resort to brute force to intimidate and belittle. However, that sword ends in a nasty deadly point: both sides combined provide the aggressor with a weapon of irony that cuts both the bully and the bullied, yet provides the bully with the handle and the deadly point directed squarely in the eye of the victim.
But, I digress.
A fellow nerd had just finished amusing a group of asses by being subjected to their various torments, and I asked him why, since he was taller than the other boys, did he not just punch one in the face? He may end up getting beat up by three, but at least he would have gotten one of them, and besides, that one punch may have been the one that shook the morale of the others in the troop, prompting them to desist with their shenanigans and leave him alone. Mind you, this was not an attempt to convey any bravery to a friend, I would have acted just as he did (and had done so in the past). My mind was geared toward survival: I believed that had he attacked, even if he got his ass kicked, it would have kept the fiends away from me another day. However, if he had been successful, and put the Fear in the bullies, then we nerds would have a champion and we could move about in peace. He would have to maintain his status at times, perhaps, but that was not an issue for me…
The first part of his response was that they were telling him to leave because he did not belong where he was, the second element of his response was to babble on size being irrelevant, the hydrogen atom and the energy created when split, and not making assumptions about the power of the assailants based on their apparent size. Big things, come in small packages, was basically what this fellow was telling me, and that I already knew; his words were not going to prevent any further attacks. He then added: “Living well is the best revenge.” To me, his future of living well for revenge was not changing the fact that while he was still where he was and had not left, it had changed the fact that he did not belong there. That he was not wanted there. And nothing would change that.
He had a plan, it turns out. He was going to use his superior intellect to get wealthy, the ignoramuses would be working for him and be subject to his whim. He figured that he would just bide his time. He suggested that I do the same. And so, that is what I did. I kept up my grades, got involved with the band and other band-things, and even enjoyed a moderate bit of popularity in High School. But the damage was done. I was tortured by the idea that I did not belong. That I was too different. That I was consigned to my own Private Idaho for the remainder of my life.
Still years later, I was using my superior intellect to lord over those who victimized me in the past. I have a wealth that I cannot calculate. Some of those that were my personal criminals have become public criminals and are living as residents of the penal system. Despite all of what may be consider wellness of living, I am not getting the best revenge. That is not to say that I have it bad. I live rather well, to be completely honest. My problem is that I am not completely sure that I am living well what I need to be living well.
To me, life has been a quest to understand and to be understood in kind. That may be a common theme to humanity, but I do not wish to make blanket statements. It has never been enough for me to simply look around me and be content. It has never been enough to live my own intellectual version of the “abominable fantasy,” to look at my former tormentors burning in their own private Hell has never been sufficient. I have always had a desire to be accepted, to be understood, to be validated. I wanted to be what I was and meet others like me and live a life with a collective of like-minded people who wrote together. Danced together. Ate, slept, fucked, ran together. I have always wanted to belong to something; I live the life of an outsider who wants to constantly peer inside.
But the Hell of my past tormentors keeps me from staring down and enjoying their suffering. The reason behind that is because I have not fully enjoyed my own personal Heavens: dangled before me like a grapes before Tantalus, they are stripped away just when I have grown to realize what I have. As a result, when I should be getting the best revenge, I find myself living of life of constant nostalgia for the images that were once present before my eyes. While I may see myself above them, they still have that one thing to hold over me, that one thing that was their weapon: I still do not fit in and still, I do not belong.
Once again, I have drudged up a relic from the past: a post from my old blog back on MySpace. One thing that I remember from the MySpace era is that there used to be an abundance of surveys. Maybe these surveys still exist, but I have not been dealing much with MySpace, I do not use my Facebook account for more than the occasional poking of someone, and I have not attempted to use any sort of poll here on WordPress.
Most of the time, I ignored these surveys. However, occasionally a friend of mine would suggest that I do one, and depending on the friend, I would take the time to use the survey as a blog entry and get my survey on! On other occasions, I would see some perverse potential in the survey and gleefully steal said survey for my own blog. Below is a reprint of one of those surveys that I felt the need to steal, with the entry’s corresponding introduction and original title of the post. For those of you who remember or still use MySpace, my mood at the time was “gallant.”
Instead of using my full creative force to astound and amaze you all, I will present you with my answers to a quiz I stole from a friend. Since I have waited so long to post it, it will seem as if I stole the idea from a friend of mine who is, apparently, also a princess with a major fetish for her own feet. Okay, I just added that bit to the end just to get her goat. Now, with goat in hand, I give you my quiz:
Is there anyone on your friends list you would ever consider having sex with?
Indeed there are, and most of them know who they are already.
Sex in the morning, afternoon or night?
Are you propositioning me? They all are good…
What side of the bed do you sleep on?
The left, usually.
Pork, beef, or chicken?
Is this a trick question? In terms of an adult survey, the first one would be a verb while the others are usually nouns. I suppose it would depend on the use of the word.
Have you ever had to pull over on the side of the road to puke?
Have you ever taken your clothes off for money?
No, I tend to just drop trow when the mood strikes. I may need to make a friend category here that includes people who have seen me naked. No, the semi-naked tattoo pictures on this profile do not count!
Shower or bath?
Shower. Baths make me feel as if I am stewing in my own filth. I know that this may not be the case, but I just fear bathing. However, I am not opposed to a nice soak in one after a shower, or a hottub bash with a bevy of hot babes.
Do you pee in the shower?
Hmm…due to circumstances which may incriminate me in the future, I choose to keep this answer to myself.
Do you want someone aggressive or passive in bed?
Yes. However, most people who sleep with me have to deal with someone who is passive-aggressive in bed.
Do you love someone in your friends list?
Yes. Fully and totally and with all of my soul.
Do you know all the people in your friends list?
Love or money?
Love. Most people cannot support me monetarily…
Credit cards or cash?
Cash. It looks more impressive when you flash it at homeless people.
Have you ever had anyone in your family you wish wasn’t?
Would you rather go camping or to a 5 star hotel?
I would go camping in a Five-Star hotel.
Where is the weirdest place you have had sex?
Either in a van on the Philadelphia turnpike, a rest area off of I-75, or on a pier-like thing in a public park.
Would you shave your entire body (including your head) for money?
Have you ever been to a strip club?
Yes, several times. On a few occasions strippers have followed me home and hung out in my living room until sunrise after visiting a strip club.
Ever been to a bar?
Yes, several times. On a few occasions strippers have followed me home and hung out in my living room until sunrise after visiting a bar.
Ever been kicked out of a bar or a club?
Yes. Well, not personally, I was with someone who was ejected and went out to the parking lot to mock his drunken, beaten up ass. Then I went back into the bar.
Ever been so drunk you had to be carried out of somewhere?
Nope. I am too afraid of midgets taking advantage of me to get that drunk.
Kissed someone of the same sex?
The same sex as whom?
Ever had sex in the bathroom?
Yes. Did you know that anal sex works really well in a shower?
Have you ever had sex at work?
Yes, I have. Ask my secretary…
Have you ever been in an “adult” store?
Yes. I did not craft every item in my collection of cockrings, DVD’s and edible dildos.
Have u ever bought anything thing from an “adult” store?
Yes. I did not craft all of my own cockrings, DVD’s and edible dildos
Ever been caught having sex?
Accidentally or intentionally?
Do you have any naughty pics of anyone that you know personally?
Yes, I have plenty. And if those individuals do not wish to avoid any negative political, marital, or legal issues, then they will keep their mouths shut and the pictures may be forgotten. What? Of course that is not what you meant by naughty. My answer still stands. But more erotically, yes, I do have nakedly naughty pictures of many people. Friends AND foes...
Does anyone have naughty pics of YOU?
Yes, including some strange Canadians who unsuccessfully tried to fuck my secretary and I. I hope they still do not have her trapped in their cell phone. However, we at the Foundation are very concerned with any use of any Foundation Board Member’s likeness; any pictures of yours truly are not only copy written, but are encoded with tracking devices and/or viruses that will burn out the eyes of thieves and malcontents.
Have you ever had sex with someone and called them the wrong name?
Who do you think has the guts to repost this?
Most of the people that I know, however, they will not repost it.
Every now and then I feel the need to do what some may consider taking the easy way out. I will go through the available video on YouTube or wherever and find various videos from songs that one may hear while listening to my show on on Saturday nights, or songs that have moved me, influenced me, in some sort of way.
When I came on board with Darkside Radio, I had no idea that I was really what one would consider a Goth. True, I did run around pretending to be a member of Clan Brujah for a time, and most of my clothing is black, and my attitude can be a bit morose and/or morbid. However, I had never really thought of any Gothic tendencies that I may have except for thinking that Goth chicks are really hot.
But, not thinking that I had enough music for many broadcasts, I figured that I could use the “gothic” and “industrial” music that I already had (which was NIN, Switchblade Symphony, and Ministry, from what I believed), and add to it as time went on and I got the swing of things, I could add more music. I also planned to keep to a theme of things on the Darkside, so sometimes, my show would break format and play what is not know as Goth. Then the day before my first show, I went to a store and found “A Life Less Lived: The Gothic Box Set.”
Not only did this collection, rock my socks because it came in a corset, but I was totally gob-smacked because many of the songs on there, I already owned. As it turns out, I may have been a Goth afterall. It turns out, my youth spent as a member of the “John Hughes Nation” may have given me tons of Gothic Street Cred.
You see, the Gothic culture has its roots in punk, New Wave, and in some cases, House Music, just to mention a few items. Goth culture has always been a part of the sub-culture: from Screamin’ Jay Hawkins to New Order to the Sex Pistols, a common link of Darkness, and eventually commercialism would creep into the scene. Hence, Bauhaus makes the transition to Peter Murphy and Love & Rockets, Malcolm Mclaren from Sex Pistols to “buffalo girls coming ’round the outside,” and Oingo Boingo begats “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.”
And I have gone on for quite long enough. Time for the videos.
Every Sagittarius should love that video. Why? If you do not know, then you do not need to know and do not deserve a glimpse Sagittarian fabulous-ness. I do have one question: what is that black censorship box covering? You know, what is it that we cannot see those hotties licking? If you have an answer, feel free to tell me.
I love nuns. I love Switchblade Symphony. I have no idea who these women in that video are, and I was disappointed that I really could not tell that they were in fact nuns. While I do like this particular Switchblade Symphony song, there are others that I would have preferred to see, (and have other videos featuring Susan Wallace and Tina Root that I could place in here), these “nuns” are a little tasty, scantily clad, and therefore, included. The music also fits.
Okay, so you had to listen to “Clown” again if you want to watch this video, but at least you can peep Tina and Susan, instead of three “nuns.” Besides, I would rather have only included this video, but since I had already written much of this blog, before I made the final decision, I decided that it was a pain in the ass to remove the other video and re-write or edit.
I first fell in love with Switchblade after hearing “Serpentine Gallery” and then going to a concert of theirs in Detroit a few months later. That was one awesome concert; it was a small venue, very intimate. The stage was literally only about two inches above the rest of the floor, and from where I was in front of the stage, I could reach out and touch the band if I wanted to, and in fact, I did get to touch hands (or whatever, you call it with Tina Root. I also had to duck the slide from George’s trombone once, I think he did it on purpose, but he smiled after and it was all good.
I would have preferred to have “Track 99” as a sample of Jack Off Jill’s music. I was introduced the song as “When Angels Fuck.” Man, this group has had a litany of members, but Jessicka definitely has to be my favorite. Please do not misunderstand me here, I do like this particular song, I just would have preferred to have on with “fucks” and possible blasphemous lyrics.
It was really only in the last two years, maybe, that I got interested in psychobilly music. I mean, I had heard some things, but never really got into the scene until I went into a store called “Rumbleville” and got hooked on the stuff. The owner of the store gave me a ton of music and from there, I was kind of hooked.
The HorrorPops are a favorite of mine. I am also rather fond of the Nekromantiks. The guitar player from the HorrorPops is also Nekromantik’s bassist (and he has a stand up bass that is shaped like a coffin).
“This lady got the thickness
Can I get a witness
This lovely lady got the thickness
Can I get a Hell Yeah
Grab them saddlebags and
Toss em over me
Let’s ride all night”
I love Siouxsie. I had to include two videos. I do not care if you approve or not. It makes me happy and this is my blog. Siouxsie and the Banshees are a weird portion of the Gothic world, just like The Cure. However, their image, despite the contrast in their musical style to the modern Goth, is what makes them a quintessential portion of all things Goth.
Now, there is another version of this video, one that includes clips from the “Batman Returns” movie. Now, I have nothing against Batman. In fact, he kicks major ass, and I would definitely include him in my pantheon of Gothic Heroes and “Must Sees” (not the movies, Batman, in general), however, this is about the Goddess Siouxsie and her cohorts: The Banshees.
In case you have been living in a cave, or avoiding things Batman or Warner Bros, this song was featured in the aforementioned movie’s soundtrack. Some people thought that it was weird to have a Siouxsie cut in the Batman movie, but why not? That film was directed by Tim Burton, and for those of us that liked Oingo Boingo, it makes perfect sense that Danny Elfman, the man behind the soundtrack, would include the likes of Siouxsie Sioux in his musical endeavors.
Smeared lipstick and all, Robert Smith used to be sooo sexy. However, the nineties apparently have not been to nice to him, or he needs to drop some carbs from his diet. Despite his present situation, The Cure will always be in my top list of must haves when it comes to any sort of music, not just the Gothic world. See, Robbie? Even though I do not believe that I could sleep with you now, I will still always love the music.
First Things First
My neighbor died a few days ago. I happened to be out checking the progress of the new vineyard and the clearing away of the old, dead trees when I noticed across the way that there were a bunch of police cars at my neighbor’s house. I left the vineyard and walked across the divide and opened the fence that led from my property to my neighbor’s.
I asked one of the women standing out in front of the house what was going on and one of the women, who turned out to be his sister, said that he had died. They did not know how. She had come by the house to check on him and he was sitting at his desk, with a pen in his hand like he was writing. He was slumped over, dead.
I offered my condolences and went back through the fence to my vineyard. The grapes are looking great, and the laborers that are cutting the dead, fallen trees into firewood are moving way to slow. I took out my sidearm and fired off a shot that barely grazed the ax handle held by one of the laborers. I commented that had he been working faster, then I would not have been able to pull off such a shot. The laborers began to work a bit faster then. Ah, Capitalism…
He has been gone for a few days now and when I look across the hills and peeks of the apple trees I can see the faint yellow glow that emits from the outdoor lights that are on twenty-four hours a day. The lights used to be white. Now, they are yellow, they add an eerie glow to the vineyards only yards away.
Ellen Garrett, Rest in Peace
I went to visit her at the hospice. She died three days later. I will miss her.
Hooray for Me!
A couple of days ago, I posted a blog. While I was writing this blog, I happened to notice a button on the tool bar for this blog window and it showed a tool tip that said “kitchen sink” or something like that. I clicked the link and slap my dick and call me Seymore Butts, I noticed that I had more text options. I could change the color of the text. I discovered how to underline! Now, some of you WordPress veterans may have known how to do this already, but I was driving myself to OCD Hell because I could not do much for blog formatting.
I even discovered how to make a quote show up inside the blog and be separated from the rest of the text like I have been seeing in other blogs. Now, granted this is not a quote, but I am all excited about the prospect of being able to do these things and want to show off my new skills.
So, now I believe that this site will be even more fun for me and I may even be enticed to write more than once or twice a week. Which I could definitely do, if I could only manage to tear myself away from my Playstation 3. I have become addicted to “Infamous” and still have to check out “L.A. Noire.” Ah, priorities.
Wednesday Night at the Bar
That video has nothing to do with this topic. Almost nothing. I just like the song, the video, and I wish that my trips to my shrink went more like this. Actually, I just loved this movie. I hear this guy has a new one in the works, I am eager to see it. I wanted to post the video for the opening of this film, but I was unable to find it on YouTube.
However, this has nothing to do with the trip to the bar. Except for the video that I wanted to show that I did not get to show. You see the video has a few really chubby women and a score of monkey men. My night at the bar was greeted by chubby women and strange monkey men. And it is along those lines that I go on with this post.
The night began innocently enough, the plan was to meet a couple of friends at a local bar and have a drink or two and then turn in for an early evening. When I got out into Old Samurai City, most of the folks that I was supposed to meet were gone, and I ran into Baron Outenburt and Ethermagus standing out in front of the coffee shop near the bar. Since the Thunderdome is undergoing some extensive renovations, I had not seen Ethermagus in some time; as for the Baron, he pops up from time-to-time as a friend of mine on the Playstation Network, but I had not had the pleasure of conversation with either gentleman in some time. So, we greeted and proceeded to catch up as friends sometimes do when they have not seen each other in a bit.
Suddenly, our reverie was broken by this dirty-ish fellow who had been standing down on the corner with another fellow that was moving about with the aid of a cane. I had seen the guys down on the corner when I walked up and the martial artist in me was compelled to keep an eye on them. Periodically, they would look down at us and then talk to each other, and then look down at us again. I was wondering if the two were conspiring against us and was now cursing the fact that I decided to obey the Michigan Concealed Weapons Regulations and left my firearms in the car since they are not allowed in bars. Well, this guy calls me: “cousin” (which I am not sure if that was because he had been watching “Lilo & Stitch” and was inspired by the culture of indigenous Hawaiians or because we are both ethnic minorities and the Baron and Ethermagus are clearly not), and asks me for a cigarette. With an uncharacteristic feeling of giving, I gave the dude a smoke and then he asked for my cigarette to light his with. I am not sure why, but I gave him my cigarette, he put his HAND ON THE FILTER, and he gave his cigarette what we smokers like to call a “monkey fuck.”
Ew. He touched my cigarette and I had no idea of knowing where his hands had been. Judging from his overall smell, I am happy to still be unaware. Before anyone starts getting up in my ass about any implication that I am referring to a person who is “houseless,” let me tell you that this was a drunk, perfectly capable, non-houseless mooch of a man who was trying to find a clever way to get something from me other than a cigarette. As I tossed my cigarette to the ground and got out the bottle of sanitizer that I keep in my pocket to scrub my hands in a mad fit of germ avoidance, this guy begins to tell us how his friend on the corner got robbed of three hundred dollars. Apparently, some chick took his money. My immediate thought was that this was a drug deal gone bad, and he was feeling the buyer’s remorse one gets when one buys and gets nothing in the exchange.
After a time, the man with the cane approaches me and asks me if I would not only call a cab for him, but would I pay for the cab to take him to Bishop Airport. You see, he was from Atlanta, Georgia and did not even know where he was. He needed to at least get to Bishop so that he could get on his flight home. Really? First of all, Bishop International is in Flint, Michigan. Flint is about a thirty minute drive from Samurai City. That would cost one Hell of a bit of money and there was no way in Hell that I was going to cough that up to some drunken idiot that gave some bitch three hundred dollars for some drugs. Some bitch that he did not know. How do I know that this is what went down? Before he came over to ask for cab fare, he was telling the smoke-mooch that he thought three hundred dollars was too much to pay for an ounce of pot. At least he is right on that point. Unless he is getting the bomb-diggity chronic. Which he was not getting from some chick on the street in Old Samurai City.
After this encounter, Ethermagus, the Baron and I parted ways and I walked down the street to the local Eighties Bar where I was told that some folks may have gone. I ordered a Captain and Coke, looked around and saw no one, and then sat down to enjoy my drink. While drinking and telling Sister Constance that I was going to send her a text message with a picture of my cock attached (which I did, only I sent a picture of a rooster. Get it? Cock? Rooster? Oh, never mind), a guy walked over to me:
Guy: “Hey, what’s up? So, I see you are sitting here on your Facebook or something and I do not mean to interrupt. My name is Rob.”
“Well, Rob, get your fucking nosy-ass eyes off of my iPhone and two, I am not in Facebook, not that it matters any to you, you fucknut” Is what I should have said, but he did catch me off guard, so instead:
Me: “Greetings and Salutations, I am Xavier A.S. Rothechilde.”
Rob: “So, I saw you sitting here alone, and just thought I would come over and say hi. I was sitting over by the DeeJay.”
Me: “And now you are sitting next to another one. Only I am an Internet DeeJay, and you probably never have listened to my show. That is too bad for you.”
Me: “Nothing, Rob. Just small talk for small people. What brings you over this fine night?”
Rob: “Well, I thought you may need company ’cause you’re sitting here by yourself and I came to say hello and see if you wanted company.”
Me: “No, but thank you. I really hate to be around too many people that I do not know and I think that you are coming on to me. You may try to Roofie me or slip me some kind of Mickey so that you can ass-rape me behind the bar. I already feel naked because I am unarmed; you are giving me the itchy trigger finger that may have me calling my attorney so that I can avail myself of legal loopholes to deal with the likes of you.”
Rob then walked back to his spot by the DeeJay, the non-Internet one, and ignored me for the duration of my stay at the bar. Now, it may seem that I was a bit hard on poor Rob, but I resented the idea that he felt that I had to be lonely and needing company because I was sitting alone in a bar! Yeesh! I can do whatever the fuck I want, and part of that fucking want is to go out, watch people, and be a hermit in public if I choose to do so. I would have been more than happy to have Rob join me for a drink and conversation, I do enjoy meeting people every once and a while, but his arrogance in assuming that I needed company? For all he knew, my “Facebook” fun could have been me asking where the Hell my crew was or me watching porn while I enjoyed my tasty beverage.
Apparently, we are turning into a culture where it is not okay to be by yourself in public.
A few years ago, I read a story on the Internet about children in Chino Hills, Ca getting attacked by coyotes in these suburban settings. Apparently, the coyotes come down from the hills, out of the woods, motor from Macy’s, etc, and proceed onto playgrounds and bite small kids. After stifling a chuckle about the situation, I appreciated that the issue was indeed serious. I mean, while the whole story has a sort of Warner Bros. flavor to it, it is distressing in that the coyotes were attacking small people. And I decided that I wanted to repost that blog. In case you had not heard about these attacks, here is some background from the Los Angeles Times.
Apparently, the sprawl of Urbanity has led the coyote to roam about the suburban landscape looking for tasty morsels of kiddie flesh. In fact, the Chino Hills website even has a question regarding the relative usual or unusual-ness of coyotes being spotted in the area:
NO, it is not. Drought conditions in Chino Hills have resulted in an increase in the number of wildlife sightings and incidents in residential neighborhoods and parks. Coyotes are being seen in neighborhoods and parks as they seek food and water in the lush landscaping found in parks and residential neighborhoods.
What prompted me to return to this issue was a discussion I had with a pit bull owner yesterday. Apparently, the state of Michigan is discussing the issue of banning pit bulls from ownership. She was distressed and she went on to state that the problem with vicious pit bulls is poor ownership. I agreed with her and added that that was only a part of the problem. The other part is that a pit bull is an animal and will do what it instinctively needs/wants to do when it comes down to it. People need to respect critters for what they are. For example, I share my habitat with a Burmese Python. One day, he will be huge. I know that I need to respect that he will be a huge snake with sharp teeth and keep him fed and happy, lest he react like a snake is going to react. A pit bull is a big, inherently aggressive dog. It has to be. It was bred to deal with wrangling bulls. However, they can be wonderful if raised, reared, and properly kept.
However, she was not hearing that noise. She believed that no matter what, proper raising will subvert any instinct the dog may possess. I politely restated my position and began to think about the coyote and decided that instead of discussing the issue of pit bulls, I would repost my coyote blog as a commentary of the human encroachment into more space, leaving less space for the wild; the conflicts between the two escalating as our worlds come closer and closer and closer…
I searched for the blog I wrote on the subject and could not find it anywhere. I was particularly disappointed because in addition to a social commentary on the subject of rapid human sprawl, I wrote what I believed to be a clever song (to the tune of “Folsom Prison Blues”) from the coyotes perspective. But why hear from the vicious, toddler-chomping coyote? He ran out and bit a poor, unsuspecting little one on the ass and ran off after having a taste of what kids were all about: cookies, dirt, and nose-pickings. While unappealing to some, apparently the coyote shared the experience with his friends and more coyotes began to come out for nibbles on kids. Now, the kids were not getting eaten, just a little nip, and then coyote would flee. Maybe, they were not attacks to eat the children, but were part of some hazing rite for entry into some coyote fraternity, gang, or the Coyote Liberation Front. No matter the case, can we really blame the coyote?
What do we expect? We move our asses into their environment and restrict their space so that they have to return the encroachment by learning to survive with us. Unfortunately, that means that small folk may start to look a bit like children McNuggets. To top it off, we stuff the little people with savory, fattening fast foods and sit them inside in front of gaming systems all day; the kids get all chubby and tender from the underuse of their little muscles. We are turning children in the United States into a type of free-range human veal, who can blame the coyote for wanting a little bite?
So, that was the gist of the blog. I even found an article on the subject and was able to include a link for your perusal. However, I lost my original song re-write and so, I attempted to re-write it from memory. I think I did a decent job with the attempt:
San Bernadino Animal Control Shelter Blues (Sung ala “Folsom Prison Blues”)
I heard them voices making,
Noises over that thar hill;
They didn’t sound like normal
Food-type Critters I would kill.
Now, I’m stuck in San Bernadino,
And time keeps draggin’ on,
I was trapped by a dog catcher,
He lured me with fake bones.
When I was just a puppy,
My Mama told me, “Son,
Always be a good whelp,
Don’t ever bite kids’ buns,”
But I bit a child in Chino,
Just to watch him cry,
Since he was so damn yummy,
I had to bite his thigh.
I know there’s pit bulls eatin’,
In them fancy urban scenes,
They’re probably chewin’ children,
From the ass right to the knee,
But I know I had it comin’,
I know I can’t be free,
But dem toddlers look delicious,
And that’s what tortures me.
I wish they’d let me move to Michigan,
Where kids get bitten all the time,
I swear I’ve learned my lesson,
I’ll chew other kids’ behinds,
Far away from Chino,
That’s where I want to stay,
I’d move out East to Detroit,
And bite my blues away.
I have a friend who is dying from cancer. She is only thirty-six years old, and she is dying from an aggressive, rare form of cancer. So rare that even the old sawbones at the University of Michigan Medical Center are scratching their nerdy, Ann Arbor hippy scalps over it.
Okay, now I have gotten the facts out of the way. The general facts that is. Usually when I write, I tend to take the reader on a voyage and that part of the voyage above could have stretched on for quite some time. This time it could not. I needed to get that out of the way so you could understand quickly. I need that.
For you to understand quicky. This has to be a quick entry.
I went to visit Ellen at the hospice. I was amazed that there was a need to buzz into the hospice through a security door setup. That place is more secure than The Thunderdome. It is for security.
Apparently, there are sickos who cannot wait for those in the hospice to pass and they need protection.
Her mother was there, waiting. Ellen was asleep. I sat down, near Ellen in a chair. Then her mother moved and I sat in a triangle formed between Ellen, her mother and myself. Actually, it was more of a diagonal line. Forgive me if I exaggerate a bit, the whole deal seemed a bit exaggerated.
So, there I sat. Humming “The Lady’s Bransel” to myself. I sat there and looked over at her mother, an elderly woman watching her daughter…and waiting.
Did I mention that Ellen is only thirty-six?
I sat there and felt awkward. Should I say something? What do you say to a sleeping person? “WAKE UP!” is what you say. But what do you say to a sleeping person who is dying? Nothing. You sit there and you hum “The Lady’s Bransel.” Eventually, I had to go. I told Ellen that I loved her and that she was definitely a child of the Goddess. I did expect more of myself, being a priest and what have you, but that is what I had to give; the Crossroads is a tough place to be…
Her mother followed me out. She remembered me and gave me a hug. She told me that Ellen was sleeping the best she had been: that snore she had was her normal snore. I thought that was an odd thing to say, but I understood.
Then I left.
During my show last night, I opened with a song by The Damned: “The Portrait.” I got a complaint at the dedication to Ellen. I took no offense. How was that one supposed to know that that was the song playing as I drove away? I offered no explanation. Who needs to? I ended my broadcast with the song that was playing as I found my way to see Ellen. A song by Sting: “Fragile.”
“Lest we forget how Fragile we are…”
She is definitely trying to be coy here; she knows how I feel about boobs.
The dream is always the same. It is vile and hideous and a usurper of all that is wonderful in the delicate machinery that drives my sanity. Before this dream, all of my nighttime visions were preceded by a lovely little dancer. She has no face save for her eyes. To begin my dreams, she would dance with that tune from Erika Eigen: “I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper.” After a time, she would lead me to any one of several doors, open the door, and set me to dreaming.
Now, she has disappeared it seems. My dreams start out black, and then the horror starts. The terror is simple and plain and I can never wake from the dream. I have awaken a few times and spoken to people only to immediately fall back aso not leep into the hideous churning of my subconscious. All that that the dream consists of is me standing or sitting somewhere and suddenly, my teeth begin to fall out. I panic and cry and plead for help, and no one can really do anything for me. It is always the same, it is always painless when the teeth fall out, it is always terrifying and sends chills to my soul that actually take a day and a few shots of absinthe to recover from afterwards.
This nightmare is one that comes directly from a true phobia: dentists. I have to go to one. Even still, I have to go to an oral surgeon and have teeth removed. Since one of these teeth has now broken, it is even more imperative that I go; in fact, my OCD demands it. However, that scathing dread that once that fellow has me unconscious in his chair, he will begin to worse than befoul my mouth with his tools. Maybe he will steal all of my teeth. Maybe he will implant a cyanide capsule that I will accidentally bite down upon one day, thus killing myself and fulfilling his evil plan. Maybe he will wax nostalgic for the medieval days and decide that in addition to a dentist, he is also, surgeon and barber. I could wake up with a my dreads mangled and my tonsils removed and covered in leeches and mustard plaster!
I am probably exaggerating this a great bit. But I cannnot shake the fear. My panic of the dentist is such that I need a sedative just to go to the damn place. However, now I know this is beyond necessary. My dental dread dream has begun to give me panic attacks. I wake from the dream ready to run and hide. I wake from the dream with my heart racing, pounding painfully against my chest like it is being kicked out by Chun Li using her multiple-leg kick technique-y thing. I wake with my temperature at a fever level and sweating bullets. After being awake the images stick in my craw and torment me randomly throughout the rest of the time I am awake following the dream.
It is time for me to face this fear; I am filled with dread, apprehension, and the desire to beg my doctor for St. George the Valium so that I can have the tools necessary to fight this dental-dragon. Goddess have mercy on my soul.
I hate being so caught up with my daily drudgery that I do not get to pay proper attention to blog or my friends’ blogs. Fortunately, this Thursday signals the beginning of a slight vacation and I will get to pay proper attention to my subscriptions and write more often.
For a few years, The Rothechilde Foundation has bestowed much generosity on a local elementary school. For five years, to be exact (maybe six?). Whatever the case, the group of fifth graders at this school had their “graduation” (which has to be placed in quotes or substituted with “celebration” in order to appease the Department of Education Bureaucrats) and I was fortunate enought to attend. This group is one of two very special groups to me: this group because they were all kindergarteners when The Foundation began working with the school and the other group is next year’s fifth graders, who were all pre-schoolers at the time.
I did not expect to be moved at all by this occasion. In fact, I had not even planned to attend. However, I was reminded that my coal black heart does hold a modicum of sentimentality and I attended the ceremony. The students were surprised to see me enter the gymnasium and all proceeded to run up and invade my space with their grubby hands and personal space violating hugs. “Mr. Rothechilde! Mr. Rothechilde! Thank you for coming! Will you sit up with us?” Of course, I could not do that, but I did sit in the front row (against my better judgement) and watched the proceedings.
The children were all dressed nicely for the occasion and were especially well-behaved. Who knows? Knowing that they were all about to get the fuck up out that joint may have spurred them to show some self-discipline. After a welcome from the principal, and an annoying speech from a local Middle School administrator (who stands about three feet tall, drives a hummer, and needs sixty kicks to the groin), one of the students approached the podium and whispered something to the principal of this elementary school. Soon, I discovered the misdoings afoot:
Principal: “Mr. Rothechilde, the students would like you to say a few words to them. They have grown to love and respect you and really want to hear something from you on this, their day.”
Hmm…me give an unprepared speech? Charlotte would approve. Madame Secretary would insist on writing a quick draft with a two minute time limit. Smeagol would be tazed to keep him silent, undoubtedly traumatizing a gym full of children and parents with his spasms and yelps. Manthony would have gotten the Hell out of that place, there was no air and it was roughly one hundred degrees with the fan blowing on me.
So, what the Hell, I approached the podium, and delivered this address, then hugged a few youngsters and then left the gym. With that as a precedent, I will write my words, hug my secretary, and leave WordPress for the night.
My Words to the Munchlings
“Parents, teachers and staff, and most importantly, future sixth grade students, I find it humbling to be standing here before you in this outrageous heat to celebrate the passing of these youngsters on to the next phase of their education. It seems like just a few minutes ago that I walked into this building for the first time and answered a billion questions from your kindergarten brains about my wondrous head of locks and penchant for black suits. However, it was not a few minutes ago, and you all have grown much in character and much in brain. As you leave this building for the last time and venture to the next stage of academia, remember that nothing is being given to you. What you want, you have to take. From your education, to future employment, the world is definitely not an ally of convenience. No, what you wish for success can only come from your blood, sweat and tears…then the world will gladly share her bounty with you. Remember, the system is no longer educating you for factory labor; it is now grooming you for poverty, ignorance and prison through cutting those important programs such as art, music, math, and science. You have to conquer the system. It is time to rise to the occasion, grab your rifle of enlightenment, and seek knowledge everywhere and anywhere you can. Take their theories and generate new ones, take their history and make it stories of truth, take their lack of compassion and shove it down their throats with a loving wooden spoon! Indeed the planet is yours to inherit, and now is the time for you to do so. I will miss you all terribly, and it breaks my heart to see you all go. However, it will be good to see you progress and I am sure our paths will cross in this life again. Take care and be well.”
While I do not completely agree here, she does raise some valid points.