Bed of Roses

While pretty, I am best viewed from afar.

Greetings and Salutations!

For some strange reason I decided to overhaul this blog instead of just trashing it. Originally, my plan was to delete the thing and end this voyage and abandon any dear readers that I may have collected along the way. Readers which I am certain have moved onwards and upwards and have forgotten about an alleged narcissicist with  tendencies for degeneracy on scales that can only be measured with “epic” as a qualifying adjective. But I ditched the plan. I have no reason why I have done so – I was having a bastardly bastard of a time coming up with things that I felt were relevant enough to write about (and we all see where that went…). And beyond explaining what has happened it the eon that I have been away, I find myself wondering if I will have material beyond a few days, maybe weeks.

Now, things have changed. I have moved on to a new chapter in my novel existence (see what I did there?), and wonder if the coming experiences will rate sharing with others. It is not that I feel that my life has become or will become boring…that is not something that I believe is possible for me. What is at issue is that I have been avoiding – the collapse of The Foundation. Yes, the collapse of the what was the single most beneficial asset to Samurai City. From beginning to end, the tale is one that I am sure would amuse, horrify, and possible bring about several more indictments; it may be told on various turns of your humble narrator’s new adventure, but do not plan on it (for any of you that care, for those of you that do not…pick a finger). The fall of the Creator of the Thunderdome is a tale wrought the joy, sadness, treachery, and ultimately, a tragedy of Greek literary tradition. But our Foundation life was not a bed of roses, this way is better for us (snicker). Needless to say, instead of focusing my empire on “charity,” I decided to go back to the University. A career in psychology/psychiatry seemed like a new and exciting path for Dear Xavier, so I packed up my office, and traded my ledgers for textbooks.

We all press the lever for food.

The road back to academia was an interesting and treacherous one. I found myself immersed in a culture of students that were significantly younger than me. Now, I am not unused to being around young people, but typically I am bossing the younger people around like some self-important autocrat. However, they younger people are now my peers and colleagues. I am now faced with having to remind myself that these are people with opinions that I owe the same consideration and respect that I would give my fellow Generation Xer’s or some junk (which is not necessarily all that much). Still, the journey has been pleasant, despite learning that I still can count mathematics as an area that I am lacking in superiority. I have also learned that psychologists are an incredibly interesting lot of people.


I think the best part of the journey that led to my literary hiatus was  that I got to avoid discussing the 2016 election. I also have to struggle to refrain from speaking of the result of that train wreck. 2016 will always represent where three to four decades of dismantling public education will lead. I cannot even bring myself to watch the news anymore. However, this is not a bad thing because I can avoid local news stories that have not gone away (I get it, the Thunderdome and Arboretum would make an excellent public park and demonstrate good will to Samurai City after the unfortunate turn of events that may have involved the Foundation! I said I was thinking about it assholes!).

These are not real babies.

In addition to avoiding the election, I was able to rediscover a few old interests. Namely, photography. I have turned into one of those people that is an unabashed and unashamed iPhonographer. See that shit? I even used tend-iLanguage to talk about my old/new thing. I am not sure why it all started. I mean, it could have been when I was taking naughty innocent pictures of various sex acts statues. It could have been when I got the idea to take a bunch of babies used for teaching how to not abuse babies and arranged them into neat photos. Whenever it was that it started, it started and now it is a thing. One thing that does not bother me about my journey into iPhotography (I am addicted, maybe?) is that I cannot take selfies. It bothers me that I had to type “selfies” multiple times to discuss this, but it was unavoidable. You see, dear readers, it seems that my arms are in fact too short for me to take a decent self-image. No, it is not an angle thing. No, it is not an inability to frame an image. My arms or too fucking small to take one, and I refuse to use one of those horrid sticks. Instead, I have to request that others take pictures of me, and aside from my secretary, I trust the photographer responsible for the image of me featured above (and one other). Other people will make my head to big or get my fat side or get too much forehead or not tell me what do in the picture so I do not look like a hideous fool. This is why images of myself tend to be a year old, maybe two.

What does any of this have to do with me? Loser!

When people quit smoking, or retire, or elect a dangerous Ferengi that had ear reduction surgery to public office, they tend to remember the date that the deed was undertaken. People remember import, significant, life-changing events. So, it would seem to reason (to me) that I would remember what date the doors to the Thunderdome closed leaving the looming structure abandoned in heart of downtown Samurai City. But, I do not. Which is a little disconcerting to me now. I mean, the amount of litigation alone would probably warrant a course in some law school…but I guess when you leave the minutia to attorneys and sycophants and spokespeople one does not have to be concerned with dates and outcomes. It sounds terrible, but other than maybe having to pay for the demolition of some property, the outcome does not really effect me. And is that not the American way? What does not effect me, should not concern me…right? Is that not the direction our species is headed? I believe you should all be concerned that someone such as myself is questioning the humanity of humanity. I mean, my idea of helping the less fortunate involved elephant stampedes parades, and alleged forced substandard-wage labor in apple orchards. I am not saying that I was bad person (just horribly misunderstood), but friends, I am just saying consider whom is writing this and the implications.

Lately, I have found myself having Dante running through my head: “In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.” It seems that I am headed into a new life – I admit to being eager and horrified.


Dear Prince, You will be sorely missed…

The majority of what follows was copied from my Facebook page. I added a few thoughts. Only a few.

Today has been a rough day. I was going to write an entry in my blog (which I haven’t done in at least a year). I just do not have the motivation…the will.


The closest I could get my hair to look like this was a Gheri Curl.

I had to give a presentation in my PSYC class earlier tonight (there is a lot to catch up on, dear readers, in the life of the X; details coming in the next few weeks). I can’t believe I made it through it the damn thing. However, I somehow managed.

It seems silly to let the death of someone you do not know personally get to oneself like this, but it is getting to me. It seems silly that the first thing I sit and write that is non-academic is this…


I decided to play an instrument because I was influenced by Prince. I wanted to play the guitar. My school district said that was not a band instrument (I later learned there was a stringed instrument program – I coulda been a violin contender!).

I decided on the saxophone. I have no regrets. That inspiration led me to learn to play the flute, the clarinet, percussion, and the Jew’s harp. He is the same reason I studied dance. For years I styled my hair, clothes, and much more after him.

I lost my virginity to Prince’s music.


But we still have your music.

Back in the days, I would play Prince’s music on my show. In the midst of a retro-Goth dance fest that occasionally featured a block of songs featuring the word “fuck” and a block of songs that illustrated how deranged the Eighties were with all the pro-stalking songs (I am looking at you Blondie and The Police…), there was always a a block of Prince songs. The listeners never questioned his music being there. One sent angry direct message Tweets if she had not heard a Prince song before the second hour started).

I am not sure what Gen X did to 2016 that has made it decide to take all of our heroes from us. Maybe next week I can smile and imagine an afterlife where Prince and Bowie are performing one awesome everlasting show.But not now. Now, I am just beside myself. Maybe I will copy and paste this as that blog entry.

My heart hurts.

Testing Photobucket

Taking the advice of the ethermagus, I have decided to attempt to maximize my usage of the capabilities if my technology. That was certainly a mouthful, was it not? Yes. Yes, it was.

As an attempt to do so, I have embarked on this experiment. My idea is simple: copy the link of a photo from my Photobucket app and paste it into my WordPress app, and then see if the picture shows up.

While I have discovered that my experiment was a success, I have yet to discover how to adjust placement. Maybe that will come next, app designers? Hint, hint…

Photobucket Pictures, Images and Photos

Music and Stuff

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.


I mention this store later on...

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.

Playing with Software

When my secretary (so wonderful, sexyy, and caring), gifted me with this new laptop, I installed a new software suite. The software is for editing photos, music, and video. The photo editor is definitely no PhotoShop, but the video program seems to do a little of what I would like from a software program.

Last night, during a bout of insomnia, I attempted to edit a video. I did get a satifactory video produced, but in order to upload via WordPress, I would need to purchase a video upgrade. Yeesh! They just keep trying to reach into my wallet for extras. However, I wass able to wrestle a little bit of cooperation from YouTube:

Now, for the record, I hate that video. My form is bad, the technique is horrible (I can do much better). And those fruity, little hops at the end make for poor zanshin. Yet, the comedy attained by my face colliding with the chair was inspiring. On another completely related note: please ignore the nasal, Michigander twang coming from my nose and mouth. Before you taunt me remember that is what you hear if you listen to my radio show, and that is also what you hear when the newscasters and the other TV people speak. We run the airwaves, beeyotches! Er…excuse me, I got a little carried away.

Now, do not got over to my YouTube page (is it called a page there?), looking for more videos, I have not put any others there yet. Although, I believe I may have subscribed to a few things like Lenore (I LOVE LENORE):

or Muse:

Seriously, what the fuck is up with that Oil of Olay commercial at the beginning. When I want to see fanged Teddy Bears destroy things, I need to have it as soon as possible. I do not need to see that Oil of Olay bullshit.


And now, for something completely different. Allow me to present Laura. A couple of nights ago, I ran into Laura and a few of her friends at a Samurai City coffee shop. One of the friends, I knew already. A decent fellow named Bruce. Well, the mood struck me that this could be an interesting group to chronicle and I decided to take a picture of the self-proclaimed super lesbian. We had an interesting conversation:

Laura: “I would do anything for fifteen dollars.”

Me: “Well, that is something…”

Laura: “Seriously, dude. I would punch my grandma in the face for twenty bucks.”

Me: “What?!”

Laura: “Well, I would give her half…”

Laura is rather fun. She grabs random boobs (oddly, from other girls who would either punch grandmas or pay Laura to do it for them. There is a strange fad afoot!), she has baudy language, and has nice cleavage. Laura was annoyed that it has taken her so long to appear in this blog as I stated she would be appearing. You will be hearing more about Laura. Definitely. We share a mutual hatered of local, pseudo artist, hipster douchebag.

Trying to decide whether to attend a party this evening (one that I found suspiciously potentially an orgy since the plan was to cover all of the windows with cardboard), Laura was accompanied by a few friends. Apparently, she and the others were Catholic School girls back during their formative academic years through High School. Declaring how much they hated wearing jumpers, they shameless destroyed the images that I had previously formed about Catholic School life. I guess the nuns were mean and not sexy. However, this relevation from their previous experience has not deterred my own preconceptions of what life in Catholic school actually is like.

My Previous Concept of Catholic School Life

Before I go on, I should be fair and point out that Bruce is not and was not a Catholic School girl. I felt the need to inform you of this as I did not want you to see the picture coming up with Bruce in it and then picture him in a Catholic School girl’s jumper. Fortunately, stating that has not caused me to imagine him in the jumper, despite my vivid imagination because I have no idea what this jumper looks like. From the description the girls gave me last night, it sounds as if they were wearing strange overalls. I thought of a Catholic School for hillbillies.

Rachel (I think that is her name) was another of Laura’s compatriots on this evening. I say that I think that Rachel is her name because she initially told me that it was something else, then said her name was Rachel, and then commented that lying was a horrible way to make a first impression. Rachel has recently had a birthday and Laura was trying to get her to join her in paying to go to a local strip club to see tits. I suggested that they simply go into the restroom together and do so for free. They felt the conditions of the bathroom were not sanitary enough to go on carrying out such things.

Alias: "Rachel"

When I began taking pictures, “Rachel” desired to have this solo image of her taken. However, I did require that she stop drinking from the giant coffee mug that she was holding up in front of her face. This cup was gigantic. Really! All you would have seen was some blonde hair, a white chin and a gigantic mug bottom in the picture. Although shady and deceptive, Rachel was a treat. She and Laura decided that they needed to take a picture together. As this was going to be a part of my blog, they wanted to appear as a united front, I guess.

Laura and Rachel

When I started out my editing process, I guess I made their faces too contrasty. A horrible mistake! You see, when posing for the pictures, the two lovelies insisted on making the oddest of faces the whole time. Really, no simple smiles, evil glares, or sensual tongue-tease manipulations. They were strictly about the comedy faces. During the Catholic School conversation, it was Laura and Rachel who began to tell me that all of the girls at their Catholic School were whores. Well, they were “celibate, blow job whores.” They explained to me how this could happen. Initially, Rachel stated that this was a new thing for her to hear. However, Laura reminded me that Rachel was indeed a notorious compulsive liar whom had given me a false name when we first met. Rachel admitted that all of the above was trued and said that she must have caught onto the blow jobs later, they were not as prevalent for her class as they were for Laura’s class. In other words, apparently Rachel was not witnessing all of the hot oral action that was happening during vespers that which Laura was privy.

Katie and Bruce

Last but not least, allow me to present an old friend, Bruce, and a new friend Katie. Katie was also one of the former Catholic school girls, and she did not lie to me about her name. She also confirmed the blow job stories. When the picture taking began, Katie wanted to be pictured with Bruce in a heart-warming scene of community. That or she did not want people having me show them her picture and stating that I spent the night violating her person. Heh. Who knows? Katie was a peach. She took it upon herself to introduce herself to me and was generally a very friendly person. I am not implying that the other ladies were not nice or friendly, but they were a bit more baudy and outgoing, were Katie was curious as to whether I knew how to spell her name and involving herself in casual pleasantries. Now, you may begin to think that Katie is an innocent. I would seriously doubt that as she was on her way to attending the cardboard-covered-window-orgy party. Bruce, on the other hand, I have know for ages. He is a laidback and generally cool fellow. In all of the years that I have know Bruce, I have never seen him frown, scowl, utter a cruel word, or eat a piece of chicken. The latter is awesome seeing that I am vegetarian.