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1/30/04 The Falcon Never Hunts the Fly
Hey Well, once again the Forces of Good have gone down to ignomious defeat beneath the stomping, taloned (or red wrestling booted) feet of the Death Falcon. Charleston All Pro Wrestling, live and in color, Saturday night, February 21 at the National Guard Armory in Dunbar, 7:30 bell time, booked and paid for, so fucking THERE. And Danny Jones can run his punk ass up an alley and holler "fish". (NO TRUCE WITH KINGS. OR FUCKWAD MAYORS). I agree with you completely. The flyers and posters are done, there should be one included on the site version of this, those of you who are local, look for 'em plastered all over the valley starting as soon as- well, today. Maybe.
What's Bill been up to? Been wretchedly ill most of this week with what I call "Baltimore flu", there's disturbing doings once more in the big city, very disturbing indeed, don't really want to discuss them in this public a forum, but they've had my gut pretty churned up, even for me, woke up- I can't keep my days straight, I think it was Tuesday- about 7 am- I'd been asleep all of half an hour- already puking. I threw up like I've never thrown up in my life. I threw up so hard I hurt something in my throat, and could hardly talk- good thing I live alone- the whole rest of the day. My throat's still sore as hell, though now functional. What else has Bill been up to? Went out to dinner with Chris and Debbie last Saturday night (thanks again, Chris) to Chili's- margarita tuna, quite good, though as Chris noted, far more well done than I would have fixed it myself, a couple big draft Sam Adams, also quite good- then up to Chris's to watch movies on his giant projection TV and more beer- Red Hook, Saranac Black and Tans, and a single Guinness- it looked lonely, so I drank it. Someone who looked remarkably like Ron showed up, but he couldn't be Ron cos he's actually talking about not only taking a job where he works outside his home, but what he'll be doing is also somewhat comprehensible. Pretty creepy, actually. Still, whoever he was, he was pretty good company.
Listening to? Nothing, it's late, even for me- bedtime is settling in about 5:30- 6:00 am, and once I get to sleep I'm actually sleeping for 5-6 hours, so that's good. Also, I'm stone sober, green tea for me, sounds like I tore it up last Saturday but it was only one or two of each type beer, cut way back on the beer so the DF will look prime for all the babes that hopefully will be there 2/21. Also, it's hard to wrestle with a beer gut- for me at least, Dusty Rhodes made a pretty good career of it. The DF is going to be pretty busy the next few months- beside Cleveland and Dunbar next month, he's been invited to participate in this big inter-promotional tag team tournament in March to determine the WV State Tag Champs. It gonna be the top 8 teams in the state- the Urban Death Squad, The Canadians, The WV Wrecking Crew, The Batten Twins, Chance Prophet and Kris King, Rictor and Mantis, some other goofs I can't remember, and of course the Death Falcons- these are big names in WV wrestling, in case you're not (AND WHY NOT?) familiar. Should be some excellent matches. Also supposed to wrestle in Oak Hill in March, 23rd I think, also some guy's wanting me and Bob to come out to Bowling Green and work for him, but I don't know, that's awful far. Then CAPW again on April 6th back in Dunbar. I am watching- as much as you an watch something with your back to it- "Public Enemy", with Jimmy Cagney. He ain't no Yankee Doodle Dandy in this one. This is where he shoves the grapefruit in his girl's face cos she won't give him a drink for breakfast. Did I hear something about "asking for it"? (THAT WAS ME.)
As far as all that nasty shit Crumb drew, and still draws, that whole "it's high art" shit is a joke. He draws this nasty stuff cos he likes to draw it. Fair enough. These other people can't say, "I like to look at these perverted drawings", so they call it art, so then they're art lovers, not fucking perverts like Crumb. Whatever, but they ain't fooling ME.
Still and all, the girl on the cover of the Mammoth etc. has a very nice heart shaped behind, very reminiscent of one I used to know quite well, Satan even used to have a pair of those over the elbow stripper gloves like Ms. Cover Girl is wearing. Oh well. My Dad continues rehab, continues to feel good, but he's getting to the point where he's starting to feel TOO damn good (his genes are my genes). He's singing all the damn time now, like to drive you fucking crazy in a heartbeat, we were going to Teays Valley on the Interstate the other day, he has to sing a song about every out of state license plate he sees- and you think I'm just trying to be funny when I say this man is fucking INSANE- going down wasn't too bad, "Carry Me Back To Old Virginny", and "My Old Kentucky Home", but coming back he got himself all worked up with a version of "California, Here I Come", which then led into this MANIC version of "Big Daddy's Alabammy Bound", that damn near sent us off the side of the road to our eternal doom. YOU try driving with that in the car. Now that I'm sleeping again, had some weird dreams, not as epic as some of those recounted in past issues, but I was dreaming just yesterday morning that Loretta and I were trying to make up, and she'd taken me out to eat to bury the hatchet. She ordered for us both, it was crab claw ravioli, which doesn't sound very practical, or tasty, it comes to the table and I cut the first ravioli in half and there's this big crab claw inside and it comes to life and attacks me, all the other ravioli burst open as their claws come after me too, a couple fall in my lap where they try to do literally what Loretta has already done figuratively, and yeah, I'd have to say that symbolism is pretty straight forward even if you're not a follower of the demented Mr. Freud. I jump up and scrape all the claws onto the floor to be stomped into submission as Loretta runs out the door laughing. The dream doesn't end there, though, cos I'm also part of the entertainment in this place, so I go over and get on the piano and start just SLAMMING out this song, it was GREAT, this sort of punkish Mott thing called "My Baby's Driven Me To Riot (She Didn't Think I'd Try It)" and I can even remember the first verse, "My dad's in the slam/My mama's a whore/You don't understand/I can't help being poor" I actually may try to finish this someday, I look up and Loretta has snuck back in and is watching me, so I start pulling keys off the piano with my right hand- while still playing with my left- and throwing them at Loretta's feet, hollering "Dance!" like the bad guy in some old Western, and she does, but not to suit me, so I start throwing the keys at her, and one sticks in her calf. She's outraged, screaming, "I can't believe you threw a piano key and stuck in in my leg!" and I'm going, "Shit, I can't believe it either, that was GREAT" and I keep throwing them at her and then I wake up. Haven't read anything very good lately, since I'm in here at the computer writing most nights, when I need a break and feel like reading, I'll click onto one of the internet music books I've mentioned, like the ones from Borderline, and read that. Did pick up a bunch of stuff at the library the other day, I'll let you guys know next issue if any of it was any good- or what to avoid. Speaking of books and writing, last issue's tale of nuclear winter and sepsis got the biggest response since- I think ever, actually. Thanks for all the kind words, I think that stuff would make a good book as well, it's hard to find a market for humor, but you guys are convincing me I should try. I'm not up for an extended essay tonight, the next one of those will probably be "The Unfortunate Birth", since it also occurred around the same time at NW and S, before we move on up to the adventures of an older Bill, as in "Bill Fought Nature (And Nature Won)", "Bill Vs. Construction Work", and "On Deep Frying My Own Vomit (And Other Golden Memories), or Bill Vs. Golden Skillet". I could recount a brief one tonight though, "Bill Vs. The Quickmud". This would have been when I was slightly younger than last issue, I'm regressing, gosh, what a surprise, it was the summer before we moved from Seat Pleasant to Camp Springs, so that would make me eight. When I say my mom is afraid of everything, I exaggerate nothing. It was damn hard being her kid- don't cross the road, don't ride your bike down the hill, stay away from the creek, stay out of the woods, don't go around dogs, et-fucking-cetera. I did all this shit anyway, and a lot more, but I also got in trouble for it a lot. A LOT. There was this construction site where they were starting a new subdivision not far from our house that I had explicitly and repeatedly been told to stay away from. I was down there all the time. I don’t know why construction sites fascinate kids, but they do. It had rained hard, and long, for days, and I'd been cooped up in the house for far too long. Once out again after the Deluge, I needed to get down and see how they were progressing at my construction site. Along the way down there I picked up Stevie Smith, he was out in his yard and wanted to tag along, not my favorite companion because he was pretty damn dull, never wanted to do much, and also because I was afraid of his mom. She was meaner than shit, I remember she hollered at me for something one time and I threw a rock at her. Most times when I threw a rock at somebody's mom they'd run in the house. Most of the time it was to call my mom, but they ran in the house. Mrs. Smith ran AT ME, and chased me all the way down the damn street. We get to the site, there was this one house where they already had most of the basement in. They'd poured the floor and foundation, and had about four feet of the cinderblock walls up. Last time we'd been there you could see the concrete floor, but, standing on the cinder blocks and looking in, we could see it was now covered with mud. It also looked a whole lot closer to the top of the wall than I remembered, but why that might've been didn't quite register at the time. We're looking down in this half done basement, and there's this big snake lying there in the mud. "Look Stevie, a snake!" I holler, and jump down to catch it. I'd been in mud up to my ankles before, maybe even to a little ways up on my calves. I hit that mud and was immediately sunk to my knees- and still sinking. "Oh Jesus Christ, Stevie, help me!" He just stands there on the wall with his mouth all gawped open, giving me the round eye. Fucking dumbass. "I'm sinking here- holy shit, I'M REALLY SINKING, throw me something and pull me out!" More silence. More big eye. I'm up to my waist now- still sinking. "STEVIE, GODDAMMIT!" He jumps off the wall- outside, not inside, so WHO was the dumbass, little Billy?- and for a minute I think it's gonna be all right. Then he starts running away, and crying, and screaming at the top of his lungs, "Mrs. Bitner, come quick, Billy's stuck in the quickmud, AND HE'S GOING DOWN!" Oh no, Stevie, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Stevie comes back with my mom, and it's a toss up as to which one of them is crying and carrying on the most. The good thing is that not long after Stevie turned tail and ran, my feet hit the concrete floor of the basement and I stopped sinking. The bad thing was that I was still stuck tight as any dinosaur in a tar pit.
Mr. Arscott had brought a rope, and it took him and both moms to pull my ass up out of that basement death trap. The ground they were standing on wasn't exactly dry, and in fact both my mom's loafers came off in that mud while they were tugging, and one sank so deep she wasn't able to get it back. She put the other one to good use, though, using it to beat me over the head- I'd have run, but she had the grip of doom on my Lone Ranger t-shirt collar- as she walked me back- her in her sock feet- to the house. She made me wait out on the front porch for my dad to get home from work. He pulls up in the driveway a little later, gets out of his car and comes over to the porch, looks me up and down- D: What happened to you? My mom has come out during this exchange and insists I tell my dad "the whole story." As far as I was concerned, I already had, and refused to say anymore, so my mom launches into this epic tale about the hard headed son who can’t listen to his momma's good advice and almost dies a horrendous death because of it, and all the damn trouble he's caused her- shit, if anyone should've been complaining it should've been Mr. Arscott, and he'd been very nice about the whole thing. She gives him this extended version of the afternoon's events, and when she's done my Dad just stands there. "Aren't you going to say anything?!" my mom wants to know. D: What the hell's quickmud? I think that's about it for this exciting issue, time to go to bed so I can get up at nine to watch Glastonbury 2002 on Trio- I think Hawkwind were there- and then go uptown for lunch and flyers if the weather, and me not falling back asleep, permit. You want to give the closing remarks? (POISON ALL THE WATER, USE UP ALL THE AIR Shouldn't that be the Death Falcon's eggs? (NO.) Why not? ("EGGS" DOESN'T RHYME WITH "DID") Got me again, Shakespeare. Good night. (GOOD NIGHT). Later Bill What the hell IS quickmud?
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The falcon never hunts the fly 
Watched "Open Range" which is either "slow", or
"deliberately paced" depending on whether you liked it or not, I
liked it, it has your archetypal Western plot, bad guys fuck with good
guys, good guys shoot the fuck out of bad guys, but Robert Duvall is a
hoot as this crusty old shit, and you've got to love lines like, to quote
Chris quoting Kevin Costner, "Men are gonna get killed here today,
Sue, and I'm gonna kill 'em". Also watched this animated Batman
movie, as always, Batman fucking rules, we REALLY need to have a Movie
Club up there soon, it's been a while since the whole crew's been in one
place. And again, DIBS ON THE OTHER STAR TREK CAPTAIN KIRK CHAIR! When it
comes in.
Also watched "Violent Saturday" last week- I think it was
Saturday, actually, before I went to dinner, with the always great Lee
Marvin, he was a bad guy in this one, a bank robber, but even when he
plays a good guy he's always the same, he's mean and he's a smart ass and
I love him. Victor Mature played the lead, Ernie Borgnine was there as
well as this not very convincing pacifist Amish guy, before he finally has
enough and runs a pitchfork through mean (and smart ass) old Lee. Good
lines in this one too, Lee's checking out this honey shaking it up on the
dance floor, his partner leans over and says "Watch it son, you know
how easy you get train sick." Maybe it's just me, but I laughed my
ass off.
Before we leave TV, watched "Crumb" down at Joe's week before
last, I found it entertaining, Laura thought it was disturbing. He's legit
nuts, but functional, his two brothers were nuts and non functional, all
three could draw like sons of bitches, though, real intricate cross
hatched stuff, the documentary mentions his older brother killed himself
between filming and release, I think I read somewhere that his younger
brother had also killed himself. His younger brother liked to swallow what
he called a bandage, looked like, I don't know, 15-20 feet of really wide
shoe string to me, to clean out his digestive tract, said it took about 3
days to go all the way through. So he'd sit there for 3 days with one end
hanging out of his mouth, the other end sticking out of his ass, the mouth
end getting shorter while the ass end gets longer. There's something for
you working folk to do with your next long weekend.
I forgot to mention when he was here last Jason let me borrow his The
Mammoth Book Of Illustrated Erotica, pretty interesting book, some artsy
fartsy stuff, some a bit too, for me, but overall well worth thumbing
through. Makes me again just teetotally pissed that my own endeavors in
that field are missing in action, victims of the divorce from hell- two
years ago the date of the last newsletter, and did I go on about it then,
NO I DID NOT, I actually broached the subject about my "art
projects" again last fall, told her, "Shit, take all the photos
of you out, I don't care, hell, you can even keep all the ones of me, just
give me back all the photos I took before I met you." Her response?
"I don't know what you're talking about?" Yeah, and all those
guys were just friends.
As soon as my mom realizes I'm not going down, as Stevie put it, she
starts to preach. And preach. I started wishing I'd gone under at least to
my ears, cos she was fucking KILLING me. Not long after she arrived, so
did Mrs. Smith, along with Mr. Arscott. The poor guy worked nights and had
been trying to sleep when Stevie's mom, who had also been alerted by her
spineless son's screeching that Billy was in the quickmud and GOING DOWN,
had come pounding on his door. I think it's just cos she hoped to kill me
herself some day.
