death

“…to survive the tide…”

Oy. It has been one of those days/years/decades. I have no idea where to begin or where to go with this; I seem to be having that problem rather often when it comes to writing in this blog. No, extend that. It goes way beyond this blog.

You never know how much you will miss a place until you are actually faced with leaving it. You know? That trip to Disney or Cedar Point lasts forever while you are in the lines or taking pictures with a gigantic anthropomorphic mouse. Then you head for the gates to return to your car, or bus, or motorcycle, or long-distance walking shoes and are faced with the prospect of leaving. The difference is most of us return home, or to something like a home. Which leads me to the following question: would you miss a place more if you were not so sure that you had a place to return?

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

I fucking hate January.

I tend to appreciate duality. However, Janus and your namesake month have never been anything but a source of ill for me. I have been listening to the same song on my iPhone when I am in transit places since September. Maybe even before that. Maybe it was the mantra the song had become. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. Maybe I should have listened.

It is taking every ounce of strength I can muster today to stay here at the Foundation and manage daily affairs. I came in to an empty desk. I have piled that desk with work to accomplish. This work will never be accomplished. This desk will never be clear. I sit and look at it, and realize that it will never be clear. I have come to realize that eventually, I will have to sit at the desk…

Even with the chatter of the Board of Directors earlier, the Boardroom was empty. Many of us know a person that walks into a room and has that sort of personality that fills the room. Sometimes the person is smothering; sometimes we would prefer that the person vacate so that the rest of the people in the room can move/breathe/walk/talk freely. Other times…other times the person contributes such an air that others suffocate as soon as that particular air leaves. The Boardroom was very empty. I twirled my pen and sat and stared at the emptiness. Thankfully, the Board Secretary takes excellent notes; I have no idea what happened during the meeting. I was absent in the empty. I am pretty sure that the Veep took over presiding the meeting at some point. I remember him calling votes and asking for seconds…on votes as well as danishes.

Now, back in my office. I just want to burn the place. Not my office…not just the office…the whole place. Like cleaning out the old dead growth in the orchards. Last night, I went out to set some of the old growth to flame. I figured I would get a start early so that planting in the Spring of the new trees could start sooner that usual. Whatever. Any excuse to burn things, right?

Orchard Hand: “Mr. Sir. X, this is not the best time to try burning the orchard. Really, it is never a good time, but now is really not. Too much snow.”

Me: “When did I start paying you to question my burning needs? Look, this fire is going well.”

OH: “Yes, sir. That it is. Starting to go pretty good. However, soon this shed will be engulfed. The snow will put out the fire. However, we’ll be burnt up before that happens…the smoke will get us before that.”

Me: “Oh. Yes. That. You may go for the day. Take your son to shoot some dangerous or delicious animal.”

OH: “After we leave together. By force if necessary.”

Me: “Fine. I am going to fire you as soon as we get up to the estate.”

OH: “Sure you are. Just like always. Now come on, I’m starting to smell like burnt apple-cherry crisp.”

“…you’ll never walk alone…”

No, this is not about Dionne Warwick or whomever may have sang the song with the title that consists of the same words of the italics above. This is my way of saying some things that maybe need to be said. Maybe they are better unsaid. Maybe they are better off forgotten and ignored. Who knows? I certainly do not. What I do know is that I have to get out of this office before I have legal issues surrounding arson, insurance fraud, and a lot of disappointed community members without a place to freeload off of the largesse of the Thunderdome. They come in daily. They tour the grounds. They enjoy the free food court. They swim in the pool, enjoy the arboretum and dodge the koalas and cybergators. Yet when they leave, they pause and look at the statue commemorating a loving and valiant Lord or Lady Phant (really, I cannot even think about that now). That statue was supposed to be a shrine, now it only serves to remind visitors of that tragedy. And that is what the Foundation has become, that is what has become the Rothechilde legacy.

Looking at the clock I find myself wondering if it is ethical for me to leave early for the day? I mean, there is an answering machine. Also, this place has gone on for months at a stretch…even with the ineptitude of Smeagol trying to run this place. So, yes. I think I can go now. No one is even going to notice that I have gone.

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Tonight on Darkside Radio or “See you at the crossroads…”

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: “Dance with the Green Faery!”

Greetings and Salutations! Tonight’s show is going to be one of kind. A return to days of old, and a fitting end to the menace of Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier. Due to the most unfortunate of circumstances (well, not THE most unfortunate, I am being a bit of a drama queen…), Darkside Radio will be going off the air on October Twentieth, Two thousand and Twelve. Tonight, my show will be my last.

Being who I am, I cannot simply state the above and print a playlist for this evening. No, I have to do more, and using Bone Thugs is not enough either; I have to blather. I had no intention of ever being a DeeJay. I am far too shy for that. Really. I prefer to make my statements through writing. And it was so back in the days of MySpace. I created an account there, and had one friend: Manthony. I never really used the profile much. Years later, I met a clan of women named Dean Hodge, and began to do what the equivalent to blogging is in the MySpace universe. I was a hit with the Hodgii, and began to feel my oats after they officially made me one of their clan. Later, I created another profile, one that was just for Xavier. It was here that I once again found myself friendless, save for my secretary, and Manthony. Feeling pity for me, my secretary helped me find some people that she thought I may click with…and she was correct. T’is began my relationships with both DJ Mirage and Sister Constance.

DJ Mirage was quite a charmer, in her own compassionate, albeit darkly sexy and evil way. What started out as an idea to somehow make a guest appearance on her show (which, I later learned would be near impossible due to geographics, and a few other things) turned into my becoming a Darkside Radio DeeJay. I was not sure that I had enough music to meet the gothic/industrial/EBM audience, but I did have much music that was dark in nature, and was the Nineteen Seventies’ and Eighties’ queer older brother of music: New Wave, to begin my own show. And so it began. In the beginning, there were others there to help me not feel all freaked out and cray cray. There was Zephyrael, Phil, Trinity, Lestat…and some whose names I have forgotten. Shame on me. Through it all, there was DJ Mirage, and her partner in crime, Doc Nasty (the “father” of Darkside Radio, KrushRadio, the universe…). And as it stands to this day, aside from myself, there is DJ Mirage, and DJ Parallax. As it stands to this day, is the fear that what is going to be lost is not just a station, but two of my dearest friends and associates. Fortunately, there is Facebook, and I will never forget you two, my dearies.

Oh yeah! I was on Sunday mornings for a little bit as well.

Over the years, I have gone through several phases. Evolving or, more like changing states like some kind of deranged matter. My original show was four hours long. I shortened it because I started to bore myself, and have a little trouble seeing the broadcaster display after all the absinthe drinking that is required to broadcast one of my little voyages into internet shenanigans. While I started out kicking the old school goth jams and new wave hits (Ha!), I eventually added more industrial, some punk, and at times gangsta rap (Recently I added that new “dub step” stuff. Apparently, it was actually about in the nineties. It should have stayed there.). No matter what I may have decided to do for the night, from playing a block of songs featuring the word “fuck,” to having a celebration of tunage glorifying that good ol’ Eighties tradition of stalking and not taking no from some bitch, I always tried to remain on the darker side of life. However, the end result was always “creepy.” I guess I just decided to run with that.

Apparently, it paid off. At least a little. I met some interesting people by means of my shows through Twitter streams and looking like a music bot for a while. A few people never got that while I was updating my Facebook status, or tweeting some song titles over and over for a couple of hour that what I was actually doing was broadcasting a live show. A few did get it, and would make requests. Part of me wondered why the fuck they were spending a nice Saturday evening inside somewhere and listening to me. The bigger part, ego fed to the maximum, welcomed the attention and was honored that someone actually felt that I was interesting enough to sit and have playing as the background sound track for their night. Thank you all for listening. Now, we can still meet for cyber shenanigans; just read my blog and leave a comment. Perhaps I would write more. Shameless plug, but it is that sort of night.

So, I guess it is now time to put the baby to bed. I am not sure why I am feeling so sentimental at this time. I mean, we darklings are supposed to embrace the end. We sing and dance about the glories of the night. We dance with vampires, zombies and witches. We run around in corsets and Victorian garb. We sport leather and spikes and shades and piercings. We are tattoos and Neo and weirdos who want to sleep on your couch so we send you a picture of us and our boyfriends in women’s underwear with ferret in mouth. We are what goes bump in the night. So why am I dreading my own walk into that very darkness that I tried to coax you into for the last few years? Simple, for once, I am unsure of what that darkness may hold, save for the end of my nights on Darkside Radio.

This was the hardest broadcast, ever.

Tonight’s show will revisit my original four hour format. Tonight’s show will begin like I used to begin: with Erika Eigen’s “I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper,” the song that plays in my head in the background of my dreams…and nightmares. Tonight, I have tried to play a little bit of everything that I have played over the years. Tonight, I try to say a fond farewell to those that listened to me and to a couple of hours every Saturday that I have accepted as part of a welcome ritual. This is harder for me than trying to quit smoking.

To Doc Nasty: Thank you for making this possible. Thank you for putting up with my freaking out over a red button and being there to get me on the air. Thank you for enabling me to spread my sickness through cyberspace, and being a real mensch about it.

To DJ Parallax: In the short time that we have known each other, it has been an age. A wonderful one. Keep in touch, my brother.

To DJ Mirage: First off, I know where to find you and can reach you by phone, email, and Pony Express. Always remember that. Second and most important, you have been an inspiration, a sister, a friend, a vampire, and a zombie to me. From MySpace to Brainaversary to Facebook, you have been the most awesome companion a creepy pirate from the Great Lakes Region could ever hope for when spreading dark music across the internet. We have been through much, ma chere. You will always be the Queen. It was awesome, and thank you for having me. And like I mentioned above, you better not try and flee… 🙂

And now, I present the artists that will be featured on tonight’s show. As you may notice, I decided to make tonight’s show an old school New Wave and Punk, earlier Gothic show with a dash of Alternative rock and Industrial sounds. To listen, tune to http://darksideradio.com at 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (US) and stay tuned until at least 2:00 am. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Enjoy!

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Erika Eigen

Type O Negative

Stone Temple Pilots

Bauhaus

Joy Division

Siouxsie and the Banshees

The Cure

The Smithereens

The Smiths

Peter Murphy

The Sisters of Mercy

DJ Mirage: The Gothic Barbie. Queen Mum of Darkside
Radio

The Damned

Lacuna Coil

That Handsome Devil

The Koffin Kats

HorrorPops

Mad Marge & the Stonecutters

The Meteors

New Order

Public Image Ltd.

My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult

KMFDM

Ministry & Co Conspirators (yes, Ms. Paganwitch, this is “Black Betty”)

Electric Six

Modulate

Combichrist

Puscifer

Nouvelle Vague

Thomas Dolby

The B-52’s

311

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Living with “creepy” ain’t so bad…

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys

Ludo

Murderdolls

Soundgarden

Bigod 20

Ministry

Nine Inch Nails

Far

Duran Duran

Tears for Fears

Tre Lux

The Cult

The Gothacoustic Ensemble

Love and Rockets

Depeche Mode

Switchblade Symphony

Dead Can Dance: “The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove” Dedicated to The Gothic Barbie – DJ Mirage”

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

Soon, Florida. Soon…

The US Government has done it. They have finally declared war on the elderly. Really, it is about time. Our country has waged wars on drugs, poverty, terrorism, and who knows what else. Usually, when the US declares war on a “thing” the nation does not do well. Except for killing people, we do that with great skill. However, the war on drugs brought more drugs. The war on terrorism gave us Homeland Security. The war on poverty successfully brought more people to poverty. At least more voting people to poverty.

According to President Obama, the US may not be able to guarantee many Social Security checks after August third. The majority of articles I have read seem to placing the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of the Barak-meister General. It is a good thing that the US government consists only of one branch. If we had a Legislative Branch, and called it something like, hmmm…how about Congress?, that body could come up with some ideas for laws and then Mr. President could either approve the law or send it back to have it reconsidered. We could call this a Balance of Power or a Share-y Law Thingy! What? You mean that the gubbmint already works like that here? My bad, I thought this whole budget thing was the responsibility of one person.

However, that is of no consequence. Whether this is the President’s, Congress’, or Ali Sheedy’s fault, the end result is the same: War has finally been declared on the the elderly of the United States. This should come of no surprise. After Florida got such a bad rap from the elderly and the confused mental states when voting back during Bush v. Gore, the politcos have set their sites on the elderly. Not all of them, only the ones who are in need of Social Security. Independently wealth old folks and politicians are okay: the former factory workers, soldiers, and people who built this country are the ones who are the problem.

Not only does this segment eat up a lot of dough in government benefits, but they drive horribly, tell the same stories repeatedly, and address everyone as “young” something. Florida was the last straw. After retiring and moving to Florida, a state evolved that has next to no native residents (save the naked hotties in the South), and the current residents being confused, elderly voters. Indeed, the last steps leading to war was Florida. The Republicans wanted those old timers out because they had become election stealing, brandy-snifter-by-the-fire, carpet bagging, thieves, and the Democrats had become the put out victims of the right wing conspiracy, the whiny crybaby now martyred on the cross of political injustice. The Greatest Generation Must Go!

Wild-ish Cracker Cow

After the ascension of The Obam-a-nator, it was time to make the move. Instead of cutting funds on a war that should have started to be over when Osama was whacked, cap spending and cut those social programs to the elderly. If done when Barak is President, the last thing the elderly will do before they die off is vote a Republican in to replace to Mr. O because their suffering is his fault. He cut the programs. The Democrats can hold on if they can convince the suffering oldies that money would be available if the Republicans were insisting on sending their grandkids to fight over in that hot desert. With who is to blame thoroughly confused, the elderly will all finally be done in by the sudden shock and awe of disregard from the once faithful and protective government. The population of Florida will drop by seventy percent and there will be plenty of room for younger people to move, find jobs, and do things that do not involve shuffleboard or pill schedules. The voting irregularities of Florida will be replaced by the apathetic non-voting influx of misguided thirty somethings who spend too much time living in parents’ basements to realize that all of Florida is not beach and that by moving to central Florida, it does not mean that you will see a lot of semi-naked chicas (you will see a lot of wild-like cows and cowmen called “crackers.”

Be it Republican-led treachery or Democrat-fed do-nothing-ness, it works for me. At least it did work for me. All will be working fine as soon as the Foundation’s legal team has settled a small issue between the County and a ourselves. The problem all started when I was pulled over last week because I braked a little suddenly to avoid killing a squirrel. Apparently, the cop riding the ass of my Alpha Romeo hearse was not of a mind to save a squirrel from being squished by a hearse and he pulled me over.

People react funny to hearses, and even funnier to one that has been crafted out of an Alpha Romeo. When the officer came to the window of my vehicle, he asked for my information and walked back to his car. At that time, I noticed a little light on the dashboard. The light was indicating that there was a problem with the air circulation system in the coffin (read on, this will make sense). Swearing to myself, I got out of the car, walked around to the back and open the rear door. Of course, this made the officer nervous, ever more nervous when he noticed the coffin in the back. He was out of his car before I could reconnect the air flow tube that must have come disconnected during the squirrel evasion. I would need to address the faulty connections to my technical people.

Officer: Stop! Let me see your hands and step away from the vehicle.

Me: Here are my hands, but I need to reconnect this tube or else Ms. Gargula may suffocate.

Officer: What?!

Me: There! All connected. What can I do for you officer? My apologies if my coffin check made you anxious, but I wanted to make sure that my resident was comfortable and safe.

Officer: You funeral types are so weird. Do you know why I stopped you?

Me: I assume that my sudden braking almost caused you to sodomize my hearse with your cruiser, and you were able to stop suddenly because you are a bottom and I am a top and the wreck would not make sense.

Officer: Well, yes. I mean, no! I mean, you did brake suddenly. Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?

Me: Not yet. But I will be having some absinthe soon.

The conversation was then interrupted by a knock from inside the coffin in the hearse. In my haste to attend to the policeman, I did not attach the air connection properly and Ms. G. was signalling that she needed to breathe. I needed to securely attach that tube or else Ms. Gargula would be meeting her maker sooner than she expected.

Officer: Was that a knock?! Is there someone alive in there?

Me: Not for long if you do not let me re-attach that tube. By now, the indicator light informing Ms. Gargula that her oxygen is being depleted and will be exhausted in one hour has come on. Fortunately, the power systems are fine, at least she has light and some entertainment.

Officer: You open that and let her out of there! You can’t keep live people in coffins.

Me: There is only one person in the coffin and this is completely legal, consensual, and really none of your business. Now, if you would let me re-attach…

Officer: You stay right there. You say this is consensual?

Me: I have “Power of Inter-y” for Ms. Gargula.

Officer: You mean “Power of Attorney, correct? And what does that have to do with having a live human being trapped in a coffin?!

Me: No, I meant “Power of Inter-y.” I have a binding legal document stating that she is to be buried in that very coffin immediately after death. I have a clever team of lawyers. Man, this is the new Gold Rush. We can thank Washington for this situation, their holding Social Security ransom has unleashed a new commercial enterprise. That is exactly what is the destiny of this, poor thing: she is terrified and took solace in premature burial. That is the case with the elderly these days with the panic generated by the recent Social Security woes and all. The old folks are freaking out about not having any money, health care, or a place to live!

So, they have come to the Foundation and requested that they be able to live in a coffin as a part of our “Coffins and Burials for Homes Program.” It is a great deal, actually. The coffins are fully tricked out with telephones, cable television, feeding ports, and IV drips for their meds. The more technologically savvy have opted for WiFi so they can communicate with family over the Internet. As for that unpleasant bathroom issue, well a system of catheters and various “-ostomies” have under management. In exhange, they deed their properties and possessions over to The Foundation. Upon the death of the client/resident, we embalm, arrange the funeral, and provide the preferred means of internment.

Officer: This is outrageous! I have never heard of such a thing. Either you let that woman out of there, or I’ll do it myself under the pretense of investigating a crime in progress.

Me: I am sorry, but opening that coffin would be a violation of the residents contractual rights. I cannot violate that Client Privilege without just cause. What we need to do now, officer, is reconnect this air connection…

Officer: Step away from the vehicle.

Me: Okay, but I must inform you that I object to this illegal search.

Officer: You just keep quiet and stand there where I can see you, don’t make me handcuff you.

Saying that, the Officer began searching for a means to open the coffin. He tried the lid, but Ms. Gargula had locked it shut, fearing that someone would come and try to steal the items from her Precious Moments collection that she wanted to have buried with her.

Me: Please do not pull on those tubes, some of them are intravenous and you may cause the resident serious pain.

Officer: I told you to shut up! This is your last warning.

Then he noticed a series of buttons on the side. The drawings next to the button gave him an idea of what the buttons were for; there was one for food, one for waste retrieval, etc. He decided that since the red button isolated from all of the others must be the mechanism to open the coffin.

Me: Please, do not push that red button!

The officer sneered at me and pushed the button. He fell away from the car as he heard a pump start, one loud scream from the coffin, and a couple of knocks. He immediately noticed the sudden silence, except for the nearly perceptible humming of pumps and fluid. He looked at me and was about to draw his weapon, and noticed that I had not moved from my spot. Rather I looked from the coffin, to him, and to from him to the coffin again.

Me: Now, you have done it. You started the auto-embalming sequence.

Officer: Well, shut it down! We can save her?!

Me: No, not now. Ms. Gargula was deathly afraid of zombies. Moreso afraid of becoming a zombie. She requested that we install Anti-Zombie precautions in her coffin. As soon as that button was tripped, metal spikes were driven through the base of her skull and her pre-frontal cortex. That scream was more than likely caused by the entrance of orifice plugs immediately before the spiking. If it matters to you, I doubt she suffered…much.

Hearing that was enough for the copper and he decided to call the matter in and have my vehicle impounded, which my attorneys were able to prevent as the Habeas Corpus of the corpse was not at the leisure of the County…or some shit my lawyers were saying. So, while I was able to leave with my car, and my former resident, our rental program has been put on hiatus pending a review of the legality or ethics of the issue. The Foundation lawyers believe that we shall be successful in our case: the government has already declared war on the elderly, at least we are helping them find peace until the end…

A Few Things

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.

"...like a drop of rain, falling to the ocean..."

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.”

Be a Proud Bitch!

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.”

Rob: “What?”

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.

Hospice-atible

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…”