11/4/03

Crawling Death Rides My Cockpit

They reckon ill who leave me out
When me they fly I am the wings
I am the doubter, and the doubt . . .

Enter freely, and of your own will.

Hey

Actually, crawling death hasn't ridden my cockpit in going on three years now, but I still like how it sounds. What's Bill been up to? Not feeling so hot, we may (or may not) get into that later-

Dave was over last week, hung out for a while and drank some beer, that was cool, it was good to see him again. He also found where the alien pirates had hidden his Telecaster and took it back with him before they showed back up to get it. Oh well. We're supposed to go trout fishing Wednesday but I'm thinking we fucked up and waited too long, I hear the weather's supposed to turn that day.

I'm not normally one to talk about the weather, unless something gets friz, but it's been damn beautiful out here this past week. I can really tell that the winter (of my discontent) is coming, though, the sun is already below the trees on the hill behind Jack and Mary's house by 3:30, it's too dark to read without a lamp in here by 4:30, dark as Loretta's heart by 5:30.

What's Bill drinking? Well, believe it or not, chocolate milk. Yeah, yuck, but I have a couple reasons, first off it ranks right up there with buttermilk in the soothes and protects category, which my internals need right now, plus it has about twice the calories of buttermilk, and I need to get this weight loss thing in check, it's getting to be just too much- 21 pounds since 9/26. You can't tell so much with my clothes on, especially when I double up with a t-shirt and flannel, or maybe you can, I don't know, but when I take my shirt off, it's like, who's THAT damn scarecrow.

Way back when I worked for the State (way back when I worked) we has this kid who was 12 years old, maybe 5 feet tall, and weighed almost 300 pounds. I kid you not. He was the most pitiful looking thing you'd ever want to see, he was so obese he had these great huge fat deposits on the side of his head just above his ears, like those big fat wings Abdullah has under his arms. He could barely walk, hell, he could barely breath. His father had tried to kill him for some fucked up reason I can't remember, so he was living with his doting and not very bright grandparents, who were killing him with food. He had a half gallon of chocolate milk and a box of doughnuts for his after school snack every day, then THE SAME THING as a snack before he went to bed. Absolutely could not convince the grandparents to not keep giving him all that shit "But he LIKES it!", the kid was an emotional wreck, he couldn't stop himself from eating, therapy wasn't working (imagine that). Finally the kid had to be hospitalized, his blood sugar was like 10 million, got some weight off of him while he was in the hospital but as soon as he went back to Granny's Chocolate Milk And Doughnuts Emporium right back it came. I'd like to tell you this story had a happy ending, but it didn't.

What's Bill listening to? Well, I'd made a dance CD to take to Joe's Halloween party, but it turned out to be not that kind of party (though it might have been had I gotten there earlier), so I was listening to that, but it just went off, so now I'm listening to Thin White Rope, their live CDs. They were a good band from the early-mid 90's, from one of the Western desert states (Something affected him/Down in the desert) pretty strange, lots of feedback and guitar wash but still melodic, songs not just noise, (Sometimes I make burns on my arms/Cos it moves that feeling/From my heart to my arms), great drummer, they cover Can AND Hawkwind, as well as Lee and Nancy's "Some Velvet Morning" (Some velvet morning when I'm straight/I'm gonna open up your gate)- hotcha. I like them cos while they have a "sound", not everything sounds the same. They're probably all selling shoes now.

Had a busy Friday night last. Went out to dinner with Martha, Geri, Tad and JEAN at Chef Dan's, I didn't eat, everything they got looked great, I tasted a lot of it, and it was. We were drinking wine, you know I don't know from wine, some Chardonnay, I don't really like wine, and I especially really don't like white wine, but this was good, I bought a bottle for the table, it was $25, holy fuck I didn't realize I was out with a bunch of high rollers, I know $25 is really not much at all to pay for a decent wine but I kept thinking, "I coulda bought TWENTY FIVE Budweiser 22 oz. for that!", that's 550 oz., or well over 4 gallons of beer, not all for me, what do you think I am, for the table, that would've been five 22's apiece, we coulda had a good time. Actually, we had a good time anyway, good to see all of you, Steve, get well soon, I'll e-mail you about stopping by for movies.

Then I went over to the Marriott with Tad and JEAN to the Highland Hospital Halloween party, they had a 3 piece band- acoustic, turned way down electric, congas, sounded pretty good- and lots to drink, every time I turned around someone was handing me a drink, lots of beer, Rolling Rock of all things, a bunch of shooters- vile stuff, but you know, if someone hands it to you, especially if it's a cute girl- "Here Bill, drink this snot" "Well- you are awful damn cute, okay"- and some JD, straight, good stuff, not WT good, but good.

Then I went to Joe and Laura's Halloween party, a bunch of people had left by the time I got there, a bunch of the others were in the other room watching TV, "28 Days Later" (which scandalized Rachel when she saw it with it's male nudity, as she was telling me, "and I'm not just talking his butt"), they didn't mix, at least not after I got there, so basically it was just like hanging out with Joe and Laura and Chris and Debbie, but that's cool, I like them. Not sure they were so thrilled, the beers kept coming and I ended up going into this whiney bitch rant that went on WAAAY too long, but at least I didn't hit anyone or break anything, so it certainly turned out a lot better than most of them.

I also had a close encounter along the way, I think I'm going to leave it at that for now, sometimes kissing and telling can keep you from getting kissed again. Not to mention- never mind.

As for the girls, talked to them yesterday, very upsetting conversations with them both, especially Sarah, I really don't want to get into it. They're there, I'm here, what can I do?

And speaking of close encounters, something weird is going on out this way. Heard something humming and throbbing (no, not that) late one night last week, looked out the window, there was this searchlight type thing moving around the yard, I figured what the fuck, if they've come for me they'll knock, after a while it went away, be damned if I didn't hear the same weird noise last Saturday night, but this time no spots. Sheer speculation here, but I'm wondering if all that gunfire a month or so ago had to do with some type drug activity out this way- this'd be the place to do it, trust me- and maybe the noise and lights do too. But the noise doesn't really sound like a helicopter, it sounds like a saucer, and that gunfire was probably from the last place they attacked. Bring it on, saucer man.

Still no TV. Not gonna talk about it.

Watched some videos last week, old cheesy 50's SF, "The Indestructible Man" with Lon Chaney, it's a mess, Lon was apparently too shit pounded during filming to speak any lines so he played a mute (after he's executed, then resurrected, I figure hydrocyanic acid gas would be pretty hard on the old pipes), when he tries to emote they do a close up on his eyes and he tries to squint and bulge them at the same time, goddamn, it hurt just to watch him. Old Lon was well known for doing most of his later (50's and up) stuff while in the bag, half the people I've read say, Oh, he was just a lovely man on the set, the other half are, No, hell no, he was a terrible drunk. One of the guys in Lon's old gang was named Squeamy Ellis, try saying that with a straight face, no wonder he played a mute.

Also, "Killers From Space", great title, shitty movie, with the famous ping pong ball eyed aliens, and "Monster From Green Hell", see earlier comments about title and movie. I think all three must've been bankrolled by Liggett and Myers, or J.R. Reynolds, ever five minutes someone is saying, "Want a cigarette?" "Suuure, thanks" and then they all light up.

Joe bought "The Kids Are Alright" double DVD like I suggested last NL, we watched it Friday before last, I've said it before, but if you only know the Who from the tired old fucks they were in the 80's and after (and some before), you really should watch this to find out what all the big deal was about, cos they used to be fucking awesome. I can honestly say watching The Who segment of "Woodstock" while visiting in Florida the summer of '74 was what pushed me over the edge and made me say, "I wanna do THAT" (so yeah, blame them). As an aside, Loretta and I saw "Woodstock" on our very first date (another re-release, obviously), summer '76, they gave out these round promo buttons at the theater that night with the old Woodstock dove and guitar head logo and the phrase "Where It All Began", how apt, I thought, and I kept mine forever, still had it when we divorced, in fact, all those years later.

About a year or so ago I came across it out here in a box. I took it outside and pissed on it, then I put it on the ground and stomped on it until it disappeared, then I took a big rock and slammed it down on top of where it disappeared, then later I came back out and pissed on the rock. Still love the fucking Who, though.

Having trouble with my computer mouse, that little rolly ball thing in it isn't wanting to roll right. I took it out back and swung it around and around over my head, then made out like I was going to let go and let it go flying into the creek. I then gave it a stern talking to and told it next time it would be no bluff, creek bound it was, brought it back inside and it's working okay again, but I don't really trust it, this electronic shit is devious. I mean, you take a hammer aside and tell it, "Now listen mother fucker, you keep smashing my fingers like that and I'm gonna break your damn handle off and pitch your ass over the hill", and it will usually settle down, but this modern electronic shit, I don't know if it's mean, or crazy, or both, but you tell something like a CD player, "Look, if you don't quit messing up I'm gonna smash you to pieces and throw you in the creek", and the damn thing will just mess up right in your face, as if to say, "Throw me in your damn creek, like I care". Fucking machines, fucking electronics, give me fire and a pointy stick and leave me the hell alone.

What's Bill been reading? This book about the old West gunfighters, pretty interesting, full of photos, back then they had this strange damn fetish, after they shot or hung some outlaw they had to take his damn picture, like they'd just caught some big damn fish or something, I like the one of Bill Doolin with the 19 (I counted 'em) bullet holes in his chest, I think he was duelin' someone had a machine gun, also of Bob Anderson with the original hand written caption- "Bob Anderson dead- note bullet holes in cheek and forehead". And I thought he was just glad to see me . . .

Also read "The Invisible Landscape: Mind, Hallucinogens and The I-Ching." It's about these two brothers who went to the Amazon in 1971 to check out all the native hallucinogens, you know, eat that bark, chew this leaf, lick that frog. Not bad work, I guess, if you can get it, and it sounds like these guys tripped their heads off, but it wasn't as entertaining a read as I'd hoped it would be. Also read a couple anthologies, one science fiction, one mystery, just okay, but you never know until you read 'em.

Bill and his Dad discuss baseball (sort of).

D: The Cubs need to get that Punch.
B: What Punch is that?
D: That Punch that plays for the Marlins.
B: Does he catch?
D: Of course he catches.
B: It's Pudge.
D: What'd you call me?
B: The catcher for the Marlins nickname is Pudge, not Punch.
D: Bullshit.
B: Whatever.
D: Pudge? What kind of goddamn stupid nickname is that? PUDGE? I don't think so, mister. Blah blah crazy talk, on and on and ON
B: Jesus Christ, alright already, I didn't give him the damn nickname, just STOP.
D: It's really Pudge?
B: YES.
D: Pudge makes him sound fat.
B: So, Punch makes him sound mean.
D: I'd rather be mean than fat.
B: Shit, you're both.
D: Shut the hell up.

About half an hour later my mom comes in the room and sits down. My dad looks at her and says-

D: You know, the Cubs ought to get that Punch.
M: Get that WHAT?
B: I gotta go.

Actually, I agree, the Cubs should try to get that Punch, or at least I'd think that if I still gave a shit about 'em, which I don't.

In Death Falcon news, he's scheduled to work an AWF show (I don't know what that stands for- I think Assholes Wrestling Fuckheads, but I could be wrong) at the National Guard Armory in Ashland 12/5, I think bell time is 8 pm.

(WELL, I'M TELLING YOU THIS, YOU DON'T GET YOUR DAMN WEIGHT UP, JUST DON'T BOTHER TO BRING THE MASK, YOU'RE ON YOUR FUCKING OWN).

I know.

(I WILL NOT HAVE YOU EMBARRASS ME BY SENDING ME OUT THERE ALL SICKLY AND SCRAWNY).

I know.

(I'M SERIOUS, YOU CAN JUST BE LITTLE BITCHBOY BILLY B, COS YOU'RE SURE AS HELL NOT GONNA-)

I know.

(YOU NEED TO EAT, MOTHERFUCKER. AND WORK OUT. AND EAT. AND WORK OUT. AND EAT, AND WORK OUT, AND EAT, AND-)

I know! Seriously . . . I know.

The black DF mask came in, looks good, wore it to the parties Friday night, I think I left it at Joe's, at least I hope so, I've lost track of it, anyway. In other wrestling news, Road Warrior Hawk died since the last newsletter, found dead in his bed like so many others. at 46. Fucking hell. He had a history of heart trouble, jeez, ya think he did steroids.

Been going through boxes of papers the past few weeks, all kinds of different personal stuff, that I just packed up when I moved out of my house back in 2001 (A Space Odyssey indeed). Been throwing away tons of it, a lot of it just doesn't mean anything to me anymore, and some of it it just bothers me too much to keep (Your love letters are confetti/I ripped them up, my hands were sweaty), but I did find an old Tang Spoons song list Joe, like 50 songs, with all the damn chords to all of 'em. Some of those damn songs I've never even HEARD of- "Goddamn Church Maggots", what the fuck was THAT, probably a hymn, there's one on there called "Hymn", I remember that one- but we've got the chords to all those old songs now should we ever need them. Will we ever? Unlikely . . . but I couldn't bring myself to throw them away.

Also found an old photo of me and my Grandma and my sister Lori from the Cap'n Tugg days, this is exactly from the time that occurred, so I'm sending it to Joe for the website. As you can see, I was a downy lad, and twee. By the mesmerized look of mute idiot glee on my face I could well have been watching Cap'n Tugg when this photo was snapped, my Grandmother looks like she's remembering that hip pointer I gave her, and my sister Lori- well, this is fucking amazing, but even though that picture was taken over 40 years ago, Lori still looks EXACTLY THE SAME.

Strike me fucking gormless, Tina is moving out of my parents house, slightly behind her self imposed schedule, but not by much. Apocalypse (Apacalyspe) must be nigh. Met her and some of her friends up at the Empty Glass last week for a couple beers- yeah, six months ago I couldn't have imagined it either- I didn't stay real long, my stomach was doing that acidy "You'd be wise to get your ass near a toilet- oh yeah, and put something in me besides BEER", and the entertainment was some dull one man blues type fucker.

He reminded me of that time Joe and I went to see Deaf Dumb AND Blind Pismo Trout up at the Empty Glass, old DD AND BPT was pretty boring, he didn't do much, he'd just sort of clap every now and then, it would startle you, you know, cos you weren't really expecting it. Later he was joined by Just Blind Econoline Skillet, he sang and accompanied himself on something he called his pigeon harp, or maybe it was bitchin' harp, or pissin' harp, his accent was a little thick, he did "Lawsy, Ah Cain't See" you'd know it if you heard it, it's the one that goes "Lawsy, ah cain't see/You gots to bring that whiskey to me/Dammit, I means right now/Is you a woman or is you a cow?" or maybe he says "sow" here, or even "plow", like I said, his accent was thick, and besides, I was drunk (they'd bringed that whiskey to me). I wanted to stick around and hear him do "The Eyeballses In Mah Headbone Don't Work" but Joe was tired so we left.

To wind up another scintillating issue- actually, if I'd kiss and tell- nah- I'm not really going to address my current downward spiral at any length, other than to say I'm unhealthier, in body and mind, than I've been for a very long time, my head's been fucked up before but I honestly don't remember ever feeling this bad on a physical level. Of course, as my Dad would tell me, "You've never been this fucking OLD before!" Thanks, Dad.

I AM taking steps to try and fix things instead of just bitching. Being the alternative kind of guy that I am-

(ARE YOU SAYING YOU'RE GAY?)

No, numbfuck, that's not what I'm saying at all.

(ALL RIGHT. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW, IN CASE I DROPPED MY MASK IN THE SHOWER).

You're safe, at least from me. Anyway I called some acupuncturists yesterday-

(GETTING STUFF JABBED IN YOU SOUNDS AWFUL GAY TO ME).

Jesus. Thank God I'm in charge of sensitivity for this firm. ANYWAY, they all say that acupuncture should help my insomnia, as well as the pain in my shoulder and neck, and knee for that matter. But then again, that's what they would say, isn't it? Also gonna hedge my bets with Western science, and run up to Gallipolis and get some blood work done at the Holzer Clinic cos Lori can get it done on the cheap for me, and it's coming out of my pocket. It's been suggested to me by more than one person recently that I might have some type of chemical imbalance, so we'll see. Although in all sincerity I don't think there's anything wrong with me other than that I am one truly unhappy son of a bitch, and I need to get over it. Or not.

Oh yeah, and I'm old.

(AND TOO DAMN SKINNY).

And too damn skinny. Good night.

I danced myself out of the womb
I danced myself out of the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon?
I danced myself into the tomb

Later

Bill