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9/9/02 Time Has Come Today I've been loved and put aside Hey Time has indeed come today. After nigh six years (not counting 7 months hiatus where I found out the only thing I hate worse than working for a shitty little company is working for a shitty big one) I've left the crumbling (remember the fucking Alamo, Davy Crockett should've bailed when he had the chance) walls of CCIL behind me. Not exactly, since I gave two weeks notice, but the official announcement has been given, and as of 4:30 (or whenever) on September 20, CCIL and I are, as certain legal documents I once received concerning another matter stated, forever divorced from one another. Fucking hell, it feels good. Do I have another job? Well, no, not really. I have what are known as "prospects". Am I concerned, as I am sort of operating without a net here? Actually, yeah, there's this job I'd like to have, and I'm afraid they're going to offer it to me before I get to take some extended time off (I'm a career driven bastard, we all know). Why'd I quit, after all this time, and innumerable false starts at it? Had enough. Simple as that. There's not a paycheck in the world worth the shit I've had to put up with this past month- and this isn't any temper driven thing, I looked at it long and hard this weekend, and realized it was time. What am I going to do with my new found free time? Enjoy the living shit out of it. Sleep in, run, work out, play the guitar, finish The Future Is My Enemy CD, write like a bastard, 40 hours a week till I go back to work, take it seriously just like it's a job, I'll finish Drains in a month or so at that rate, it's not Shakespeare (it's good, though), it's guys fighting monsters in the sewers of future hell world, fish, I LOVE fall trout fishing, go places and do things that you just can't do when you're tied down to a job, I'm far (FAR) from rich in any monetary sense (well stocked on chutzpah, though) but I've got some money in the bank, and you know what, I've always thought that was about the damned worst place it could possibly be. Oh boy, this is going to be FUN. (A year from now when I'm homeless and selling my ass on Summers Street, be kind enough not to throw this in my face). What's Bill drinking? Champagne. Swear. Not very good champagne, and since it's just me, and I don't have Jennifer Connelly's shoe (hey, Jason, I'm still waiting, dude) to drink it from, I'm just drinking it from the bottle. Slurp. Aaah. Wretched. You know what's good to eat when you're drinking champagne? Probably lots of things, but scrambled eggs aren't one of them. I know I never eat when I'm drinking, but I was starving when I got home, and when I opened the refrigerator door, you know how the egg holding thing is right there, they were the first thing I saw . . . felt very Continental, standing at the stove swigging bubbly and going "Zoot alors, les oeufs, they are flipping out of les pan", cos some idiot was shaking the shit out of it one handed, and giggling . . . fixed too many, as well, cos I don't see any sense in scrambling less than six, and I was enrolled in Pick Temple's clean plate club at the local Super Giant (don't ask, it was a nightmare) as a waif, so you eat all you fix . . . urgh. Gonna just keep throwing the champagne down on top of 'em, they'll stay down, or else. What's Bill listening to? The Ramones, Subterranean Jungle with their version of "Time Has Come Today" on it. Not their strongest album, too much generic filler, but the good songs-I like "Outsider"- I'm an outsider/Outside of everything/Everything you know- are good songs. "THCT" was a cover the Tang Spoons hacked around on in practice, sorry we never got into it enough to take it out, I always liked it. What's Bill been up to? Spent most of last weekend on Joe's boat, ran up there last Friday to check it out since I hadn't been over since he got it floating, we ran up to Poca to the One Stop - they have a dock there over the hill, how cool, I never knew- and bought some beer, imagine that, and then took a couple hours to make it back to his house, just drinking beer and hanging, it was fun, absolutely beautiful evening to be out on a boat. There's some strange and grotesque things along the riverbank that you never see from the road. Went back down Saturday, he and Laura and I took the boat back up to Huck Finn's there in Dunbar- went on up to Charleston first to check things out- for dinner and beer, again, a very nice time, boat rides are wonderfully relaxing. Unless you have a Bitner at the helm. You know those speed stick things boats have instead of gas pedals? You know how all the way forward is super fast ahead? Well, if you pull it all the way back, that's not stop. It's super fast backward. Just so you know. Anyway, since what's Joe's is mine, anyone who wants to come to Charleston and go on a boat ride while the weather's still nice, let me know. And Dave, we're gonna go fishing in it soon, you ought to try to come with us. You too Chris, if you can handle the indignity of fishing with lugs. Johnny Goodfornothing (what a great name) was rhythm guitar player for Sham 69 back in '77. If you didn't already know that, you do now, and you're better off for it. Reading a really good book right now, best fiction book I've read in a very long time, Resurrection Day, by Brendan Dubois. It takes place in 1972, in a world where Nikita didn't back off in '62, and we invaded Cuba, which resulted in a WW III that we won, but still took a pounding. It's written in a very realistic style- I really like this guys attention to detail- and as I say, besides having an intriguing premise to start with, it's the best written book I've read in ages. Just started it, only to page 70 out of about 400, so hopefully it won't fall apart on me. Not a lot of e-mails this past week to respond to, only one I can remember off the top of my champagne imbibing head (Jason- JC!) is from someone wanting to know my take on 9-11 (?!?). Good lord, ask me about wrestling, or comics, or rock bands, or movies, both clean and not, or what goes best with tuna from a can, but don't ask me about current events. My take on 9-11? No comment. Trust me, it's better this way. Oh yeah, now I remember, there was this article in the Gazette-Mail Sunday before last about this stupid ass local Fight Club kind of thing, that some of you said I should check into joining. Excuse me? You people have obviously mistaken me for someone else. I like WRESTLING. That's like acting. Rough acting, but acting nonetheless. Fighting is scary and stupid and dangerous, and I hate it. I'll admit I'm not above popping someone in the mouth when my Irish gets up, and I also took some grim satisfaction in pounding two pieces of human dirt, who transgressed quite seriously against me (vengeance is mine, sayeth the Death Falcon, the lord can have his crack at you when you get to him) into twitching pieces of bloody fucking meat, which is not hyperbole but objective fact, and I've mentioned that in this rag previously, so maybe that's where you've gotten the wrong impression . . . but fighting, real fighting, because you think it's fun? Not me, no way. That's sick. Although there was this skank ass looking pony tailed attorney pictured in the article, throwing this weak looking kick. My loathing for attorneys knows no bounds, as we're all aware. I wouldn't mind going up there and going around with him, have him throw one of his pathetic kicks and introduce him to a Dragon Screw Leg Whip (a la The Great Muta). They'd never find his fucking knee joint, I swear to you. My dad was working on 9-11 the other day- they just got back from a
week in South Carolina- said he hoped they didn't start mailing those
amtracks again. Bought some more bookcases a few weeks ago, finally got around to building them (oh, do I hate projects of that sort, I somehow must've gotten skipped over for the manly project gene, got a double dose of I'll just sit here on my ass and think about weird things gene), got a bunch more of my books out of boxes and shelved, probably just in time to go broke and get evicted and have to move and put 'em all back in boxes. Life seems to be like that. Actually, I guess I got more e-mails than Mr. Champagne Head (that old German group, Can, whom I talked about months ago when their guitarist died, had a song, "Then I Saw Mushroom Head" the very title of which used to send me into hysterics back at Marshall- I'm starting to ramble here, I see, bubbles in my brain, and shit, I QUIT, thank God) remembered at first. Doug got back to me about that book, he sent the title first time in a link I missed- it's called How To Goodbye Depression: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? Or Effective Way? by this Japanese guy. I dunno. Personally, my own anus has been in a perpetual clench since about '96, but if I ever get the son of a bitch open, I may try it. I love how the Japanese write English. On one of our beach trips Doug had a Japan instructed kite that said, "Can be flow on the high sky. Let's active!" Let's active, indeed.
Steve also sent me a picture of the dude from Hand of Death, mentioned last issue- he looks like The Thing if Ben Grimm had started out as one of the Cosby Kids- and I was gonna try to include it with this issue. Joe told me how to do that last weekend, but it was after I'd almost parked his boat on the roof of his fucking house- backward- so beyond remembering we had the conversation, I'm clueless. Tried a bunch of times, it's not working, maybe next time. Also thought about putting a picture of Loretta's new guy on here that I've acquired, decided not to. Can't put a finger on why, except it just doesn't feel right. Again, maybe next time. Was just going to let this one slide without any scanned in extras,
when this picture fell out of a book I was moving- still don't have enough
shelves, my living room floor is full of books that will have to go back
in boxes- earlier this evening, apparently I used it as a book mark way
back then, and I took it as a sign, so I'm just gonna send it along and
leave it at that. It's from late fall/early winter '85, which I know to some of you is your childhood, to me it's like, I don't know, week before last, and it points up I think a lot of my problem relating to the world, because unless I'm actually looking in the mirror, when I think of myself, that's still the guy I see in my head- this young, happy, bright-eyed guy with all his hair, and all his future, not this sullen, shaven headed, goateed, quasi-thug looking shit that I've become. It's also the only known picture of me humping a dog (at least I hope they burned the others), our little Lab/Irish Setter mix Scout, that we went up and got from the pound for Loretta's birthday in '81. He was a damn good dog, and I miss him, and those days. Gonna go, this champagne is starting to give me a head ache. I think two bottles is my limit. My love has blown away Bill
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By the way, 
