The Joy Of Rot

We work until sleep hurts. But we love to eliminate the unnecessary. Partial to fleeting, flighty flirts. And music that makes your head turn in on itself.

Deaf Magnetic

There is a war going on and if we're smart we'll have our first black president. Meanwhile, yours truly is signing Online Petitions to protest the production of the new Metallica album.

That's pathetic, I know. But these squashed ("loud"), modern CDs are destroying my ability to enjoy the music. Music is supposed to make you choke in its humble majesty and technology is supposed to facilitate that. Instead we have distorted MP3s coming through bluetooth headsets. You want pathetic, there you go!

In other news, there are now ex-members of Dead Child.

Harmony And Sin

Up all night organizing 2007 receipts, fun fun! Deadline coming up fast. Reward my procrastination by going to see that asshole Alexis Laiho tonight. Great guitarist though, when he's not drunk.

A three hour conference call with Slint. We are trimming ambition down to a tangible reality.

Wrinkles, Money and Dark Hearts

The saddle is rough and worn but it's mine. It never looked like much to begin with but it gets the job done.

Watching 'Iron Man' I mentioned that I'd been to Bern. A few times. She responded, "I don't even know where that is." There is a Paul Klee museum in Bern that I remember well because it had two Adolf Wolfi drawings.

Talked to some old friends yesterday about the various wrinkles in the leather. I just realized they are both millionaires. They don't mind that I'm far from that. Maybe they like me because they know I could care less about their money.

But anyway, that old saddle metaphor. It's nothing really, just another cliche from the bottom of my dark heart.

Diddly. Diddly. Nadir.

Sorting through a hump of receipts. Found an accounting statement from Touch & Go Records. Everyone asks me how much Spiderland has sold over the years. I just found out: over 100,000 in North America.

A slow burner, that one.

I've been very disciplined about practicing guitar every day, intense practice sessions. I keep making these little breakthroughs in technique. Sometimes nothing for a few months and I start to wonder if I'm wasting my time on this pebble. Then these little bumps, these little rewards, nudge me to a more advanced plateau.

An apex where I can go, "Diddly diddly" really fast.

Omens From The Mind's Menagerie

There is clutter in our minds, we want to straighten up but don't know where to start.

Distractions.
Annoyances.
Tedium.
Begging to be left alone-- Welcome back.

Words that come out of my own mouth knock the wind out of me. I've banished sleep from my pillow.

In the back of my mind I wished surrealist cinema was fashionable.

Killed a wolf spider on my way to bed. Brain feeling weak and achey. Turned on the light that hangs over the center of the bed. A striped snake motionless on my pillow. How do they get in the house? Throw him in the creek.

Wake up every half hour to check for spiders and snakes that observe the dark for movement. Sleep ist verboten. These critters are omens from the mind's menagerie. You are what you witness.

The Day of the Rat

I remembered today. The first time I ever went to Columbus. OH. 1986 and Maurice played our final show with Samhain. A skinhead slashed Samhain's tires during their set. Rat, living up to his name for the first time, told Danzig while he was onstage. It was nuts, the whole band rushed out of the bar. The whole audience did too. Rat pointed at the skinhead, "It was him!" Glenn and Eerie held the skinhead down, brandishing baseball bats as weapons. It's the Jersey-style. When the cops showed up Rat had to talk to them, as a witness. He said that, although Glenn had legally changed names, Eerie hadn't. When he told the cops his real name Eerie glared at Rat as if saying, "Don't you dare tell!"

A Positive Thing

Saw Skeletonwitch tonight. I was a fan before we played together a month or two ago. The left-handed guitar player recognized me and we rapped a bit about how our show in Albuquerque pretty much sucked without them. They totally destroyed, what a band. I bought a longsleeve tee, a sticker and a patch. They guy selling merch, Pooter, said, "For you, $10. I recoginize you and I know what you've done." For the the first time in my life that was a positive thing.

Alive and Itching

I've kept the fire going for three days now and there's still so much left to burn. My fingers have duct tape around them to hold down the band-aids on my blood blisters. I go through four sweaty t-shirts a day in an effort to keep the stink monkeys at bay. I saw a stick finger man screaming in the fire and a fat spider ran up shorts. I impaled him with the butt end of the shovel. I still manage to practice guitar while watching movies; "Inside" testing even my boundaries of extreme horror. My sympathy goes out to Martin and the Mogwai crew.

Detroit Days

It's one of those Charles Chips, Sanders and Vernors days. But unfortunately I can't accept the temptations of luxury with labor's eye staring me down like that. Instead I overlook the blisters of the morn for the evening's reward.

Power

160 hours later, the AEP deems us worthy of juice. Thanks, electric fairies!

Not That I Care

Thing is, James Iha is funny as shit. Dry as a bone, understated and quick. D'arcy is ballsy, can stand up to anybody. Preferred hanging out with the roadies more than the band-- a genuine person. Without them there is no character, no collective soul, no laughter. A band, a real band, is the sum of distinct personalities. You know, George is the quiet one, Keith is the partier, etc. Otherwise it's just a dude surrounded by faceless yes men. The human element is replaced with generic beauty and friendship is just another commodity.

Outdoor Blaze On A Hot Summer Day

The wind storm left me with a massive burn pile that went over my hat. All the neighbors are still without power and water, all you can hear are propane generators and chainsaws. All of us lamenting the size of our burn piles. My 63 year old neighbor said, "We've never had a storm like this, David. I've never seen this much wood." His house is for sale.

The flames went up so high, beyond the tops of the trees, for a good ten minutes. I couldn't get within four yards of the blaze to control it. As I type this on my phone (my new camera-challenged blackberry) I'm waiting for the flames to finish their work. There is sweat dripping down my back to my butt crack, I apologize.

The neighborhood is empty. Everyone is staying with friends or at hotels. The few people with generators only run them for their freezers and whatnot.

I will be going on a songwriting trip to NYC next month, I hope to see you around.

Still nothing

I saw an extremely obese gentleman sitting on a riding lawn mower, stuck in a ditch. I couldn't help but laugh.

I can't fight in front of innocents anymore, for their sake.

Head Splatter

My mind is oozing out of the wall outlets. Housesitting for an English girl in German Village until my power comes back on. I think I stepped in dogshit.

September Underground

Sunday night I was planning to see Motorhead, Misfits and Valient Thorr. Around 3pm the power went out. Back on 10 minutes later. Flickering off and on. Suddenly I'm out of electricity and water. A drive through the nearest village shows that its not just my neighborhood that's out. Every store and chain is blacked out, you can't even buy water.

A few hours later and the wind starts lashing the trees at 60 mph. Its raining branches and limbs. Not just the dead ones.

The power line outside my window sinks under a fallen oak. Two maples are uprooted, one takes off into the neighbor's yard. Mature trees are tackling garages everywhere.

Phonecalls later indicate that this storm wiped out the whole damn city. But I live in the middle of nowhere so I'll be damned if anyone will get to our dead end neighborhood. They're expecting it to be about a week until the power's up again.

Spent a good ten hours dividing piles of debris. At 7am there was a vivid full moon hanging out in the sky, shooting the shit.

Day three without electricity and water. Motorhead rescheduled to play last night but sadly I missed it. I was too beat to make the drive into the city. Went to the gym to take a shower before they closed. Ticketmaster charged me $40 for that ticket and I still have never seen Motorhead.

I repeat:

Paid $40 for a ticket and I still have never seen Motorhead.

Shaving By Candlelight

If you put the candles in front of the mirror you double your light.

Salad Days Are Queer Again

Holding pattern soon to be denied.

Home Is Where The Good Coffee Is

"I walked into an avalanche" a wise man once said (who, I'm happy to report, is still quite alive). There was the physical, organized avalanche that I put all my effort into. Then the onslaught of destruction began. All in the name of evolution -- I have always embraced productive destruction.

But the big news: Eddie Lee Sausage is a fan!

Braxing

Tis a good week for haircuts, receipt organization, caffeine reduction and those beloved.