"The Vulgar Fictions of a Demented Irishman"

4:28PM - Gotham: Year One

"Gotham City...always brings a smile to my face."
-- Batman (1989)

"The shadow is primitive and secretive and lives in shame and guilt, slipping in and out of sight. It hides in the secret passages, dark alleys, and the ghost-filled attics and dungeons of our psyche. But, in truth, they really are the lonely and unvisited parts of ourselves."
-- Deepak Chopra, "The Seven Spiritual Laws of Superheroes"

* * *

I re-awaken. But differently this time.

As the snows blanketing this land disappear as quickly as they came, as my own greatly-abbreviated yet nonetheless spiritually poignant "snow-death" abates, I can say that at least one of the wishes I hoped to bring out of said experience is indeed proving true: altered awareness and perception of all things surrounding.

As for my methods in bringing this state about, I shall say nothing. What this writing concerns is not the cause of this perception, but rather WHAT it perceives about it, chiefly in regards to the raven-black city of my birth which I have embraced with a newfound, fatal infatuation, in the time since I have found myself back here, in the lower viscera of its counties. (Capital or lower case "R" in the word "raven" is your choice here, though I can fully understand why most people will forego any football reference to be found therein, after fate almost poetically sent that god damn kick wide...)

Baltimore. Its praises lauded in "Maryland, My Maryland". Its worst aspects reportedly called "vile" by none other than Mr. Poe himself. It is these things and all in between. Sterile urban ambiance by day, darkened shroud by night. When viewed alongside other nearby urban bastions, such as the odoriferous pretensions of DC and Harrisburg, or smaller hells like the creative dead zone that is York, PA, Baltimore is indeed its own phantasm. A deceptively large chunk of obsidian on the east coast, BEGGING to be plucked.

Kind of like...Gotham City.

Granted, the parallels have been drawn before. I can now wholeheartedly say that I belong to that small but growing contingent of like minds who firmly believe that it was Baltimore, and not New York as generally accepted, that really formed the inspiration for Batman's home town. New York is simply too vast for a criminal archetype such as the Joker or Riddler to hide in for long, and too far gone in its own right for such a character to truly stand out. Baltimore's own innate mystery makes for a far more rewarding playground.

But there has been more at work in the universe lately, far more, that has formed the crux of my latest fresh scrutiny of a place heretofore mentally designated as a slight stop on the way to visiting friends in Glen Burnie and Catonsville. Freakishly short snow storms are just the beginning. That this was to come should be a surprise to no one: Mayan prophecy or no, SOME form of subsequent degeneration AND evolution was bound to come with the dawning of this year, and if you don't believe that, I lamentably cannot do business with you. (Yes, Republicans, I'm looking at you. Well, more pointedly, I'm trying not to because Newt and Mitt are just fucking creepy).

Key examples of the sort of metaphysical alteration/swirl of energy/just plain weird shit that I refer to here will form the basis of future posts. Save one: the sudden overwhelming desire for POWER, CONTROL, and KNOWLEDGE. I say "knowledge" and not "enlightenment" because the latter term is, let's face it, the world's oldest marketing ploy. Arjuna Ardagh (brilliant mind; if you've never read him, do so NOW) was quoted as saying "So-called 'enlightenment' is nothing more than a really good way to win at Scrabble". Frequently within the span of but the last few weeks have I found myself not only enacting towards, but speaking of this nigh lust for power within me with my current paramour (nameless here forevermore), often punctuating such statements with the line "Did I just say that"?

That's right. ME. I'll let those who know me well enough contemplate that for a moment...

In the meantime, I'll close this little posting with a little nod to some of the afore-mentioned "like minds" joining me in this dark little revelation and homage to our hometown and all of the possibilities to be found for us therein. To them I shall say the following: know the roles you play. Stand steadfast in them. And, the next time you stroll those streets, remember well the words of the immortal Dee Snider of Twisted Sister: Stay Hungry.

As for myself, I put on my hat, brew up my tea, and approach another frabjous evening knowing my part well. And all is right in our twisted little world...

Oh yes...and smile with me as well, despite the grim tone evoked above.

After all...why so serious?

3:38AM - Certainty = Complacency

"I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves."
-- George Gordon, Lord Byron

Greetings again. I could chalk up my latest hiatus from posting here for any number of reasons: lack of material, fatigue, the good old-fashioned occasional fugues of depression, and countless other alibis. But I think the main reason I haven't felt the gumption to write here lately can be attributed to the nature of this very internet. In the wake of Facebook and Twitter, we live in a world where even what was once considered to be the "short form" of writing is now too tedious, and any thought that cannot be crammed into the smallest of typographical snippets comes off as so much blather. In short, there hasn't been much worth writing about that I haven't been able to sum up in a few sentences on Facebook.

So why am I here now? Well, the age-old case of being unable to sleep is, as usual, the main culprit. And, as is usually the case, the sleeplessness is fueled by the same old source: hyper kinetic mental activity.

In other words, I can't stop thinking and therefore can't sleep. And so, to the mental vomitorium I return...

The main source of rumination? You guessed it: music. The machanations of what is undoubtedly the most successful act I've ever belonged to (yes, I've said that a million times before, but factors such as a slew of well-paying gigs between now and January and a potential interview and performance on 98 Rock shortly thereafter attest to the truth of that statement this time). And yes, I just said that without feeling the natural urge to knock heavily on the wooden desk beneath me, if you know what I mean. And I'm okay with that.

Why? I suppose it's because this past year has re-taught me a hard truth about life: that the best things in it are, by their own nature, short-lived. Two past marriages, one foreclosure and a slew of short term temp jobs will do that.

Oddly enough (or maybe not) this re-realization has only strengthened my appreciation of these things, current band being no exception. This said, however, I have also taken it upon myself to remain largely silent during practices, letting the session's drama unfold on its own (and with a grand total of SIX members, you can damn sure bet that there's been a fair share of drama therein). Largely, this has been due to the band's success, I am pleased to say; if it ain't broke, don't fix it. But a deeper, more personal reason lies beneath this stoicism, one which doesn't just stem from the kick I get out of feeling like the proverbial soft-spoken, learned sage of the group, and it can be summed up in one word: certainty.

I've spoken many times in the past about a perceived necessity for at least some degree of certainty in life, without realizing the inherent quandary one faces should such a goal actually be attained. That being: what next?

One of the few noteworthy pieces of advice given me by one who shall go nameless here forevermore cautioned me against seeking further relationships until I had "learned myself" (I remain in "retirement" from the whole dating thing for other reasons, which shall also go nameless here forevermore). How does one go about doing so amidst seas of uncertainty? By embracing said uncertainty and letting the universe guide you by doing what it will. In other words, by playing a game of "process of elimination" with fate. (Ah, good old Fate. My all-purpose, go-to stand in for god/goddess/the gods/the Force, indeed, all of religion. Which is not to say I'm becoming an atheist; Darwin didn't chalk up the theory of natural selection to fate. Anyway...)

Case in point: tonight presented the first evidence of fissure in this particular musical endeavor, doubtlessly a reminder from the afore-mentioned fate that what is given can be taken away. Granted, a dark, rainy evening which in turn produced traffic that is doubtlessly still backed up from here to India didn't help lead to an eventful rehearsal, nor did crushing days at work for half the band. There were no arguments, but the energy was clearly minimal. Do I fear these perceived fissures? No, and not just out of the realization that music, like all art forms, is of a malleable nature, and that all clay, literal or figurative, will eventually crack. As with all endeavors in life, this band not only presents a great creative outlet, but its very longevity acts as a sort of "marker" for what will come in life.

I am, among other things, becoming more and more convinced that the only way I will ever attain a career related to my major in English is to go to grad school. Upon FINALLY attaining gainful employment again, I intend to make this my aim. Naturally, this will eat up a colossal chunk of time, energy, and capital, leaving me with just enough of all three remaining to contribute to maybe two extracurricular hobbies tops. I am prepared for this. Should the band succeed and continue to do so, therein shall lie my activity outside of class. If not, the universe will have informed me that such is not to be the case, and in so doing create one more illuminated sign pointing to a solution to the eternal burning question: who and what am I? I' ain't getting any younger, so it's time to roll with the punches to get to what's real, as Van Halen put it.

Plus, such silent observation has in rendered the band as, among other things, an interesting social experiment to watch unfurl. What happens when six artists from drastically different musical backgrounds and influences come together as one? Thus far, the answer seems to be that things can go pretty darn smoothly until the need to learn covers comes into the picture. I myself have offered nothing in the way of any suggestions for particular cover fodder, nor do I ever plan to, and not just because the goth/industrial genre of which I am such a fan would not lend itself well to a standard rock band. (And if you don't believe that, just try playing a Sisters of Mercy tune on drums without falling asleep. Great though Eldritch and company are, it's pretty damn dull emulating a machine). It's because getting 6 different people to decide on what music they'd like to play is not unlike getting 6 different people to decide on pizza toppings; after a while, you realize it's best not to stir the pot too much. A somewhat misanthropic observation? Maybe so. But a true one.

Paranoid though this might sound, I realize the jeopardy I place myself in by spewing all of this here, should any of the band catch wind of it. It sounds, at face value, like the words of someone who doesn't care. Hence, the following disclaimer: I assure any of the afore-mentioned people that it is ANYTHING BUT. When it comes to concern, as with most things in life, I have two settings: on and off. Which is to say, I either care implicitly about something (to the point where I find myself frantically writing about it at 3:30 in the morning) or I don't give the proverbial rodent's anus.

There is NO IN BETWEEN. No grey areas. And with that said, let me also somewhat contradictorlly say that I hope to never be certain about anything save the nigh-inevitabilities of life: that I live, breathe, and will rise again in the morning.

Why? Because life's just more interesting that way. And nothing lasts forever.

So, Fate...what's it gonna be then, eh?

12:38PM - Writer's Block: Killer Queen

"Gimme the Prize" from the Highlander soundtrack. Aka the Kurgan's theme. The perfect "grab life by the cajones" song. ;)

9:47PM - Empathy...

...sucks major DICK.

1:45AM - Strange Alchemy

Continuing the thoughts from last post (as I am again quite pickled):

1.) On my second screwdriver at the moment. Aside from the expected lightheadedness, I'm feeling calmly rational, at the moment. This could have stemmed from any number of sources of inspiration, but I will take my most recent viewing of the latest episode of "Deadliest Warrior" as such; specifically, its analysis of military strategies between the featured "combatants" for the week: George Washington and Napoleon Bonaparte. One does not lead armies into battle when completely addle-minded.

2.) I find myself talking to old contacts, heretofore nameless and out of my personal loop for over a year. Yet I sense it is for more than just a need for companionship (which I have), but rather, some means of attaining a goal.

3.) Some more visual/aural sources of musing:
A.) "The Incredible Hulk": always a favorite series of mine, the most recent viewing of which had me asking the following questions embodied by the central figure, David Banner: 1.) What WOULD it be like to drift from town to town and 2.) How can one drift from relationship to relationship (friendly, platonic, or otherwise) and then withdraw once the necessity toward "moving on" becomes paramount again?

B.) Listening to a (somewhat less) rough cut of my band's last rehearsal and again finding myself facing the desire toward "leadership", i.e. - seizing the reins, as it were, at our next scheduled meeting as would a field marshal and directing said group?

All this inner musing (and far more than I can adequately chronicle here) from two drinks. Blargh.

2:03AM - The 40% Solution?

"I put on some make-up
Turn on the eight-track
I'm pulling the wig down from the shelf
Suddenly I'm Miss Farrah Fawcett
From TV
Until I wake up
And I turn back to myself"
-- Hedwig and the Angry Inch, "Wig In a Box"

"But time began at last to obliterate the freshness of my alarm; the praises of conscience began to grow into a thing of course; I began to be tortured with throes and longings, as of Hyde struggling after freedom; and at last, in an hour of moral weakness, I once again compounded and swallowed the transforming draught…My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring."
-- Robert Louis Stevenson, "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"

*Sigh*

1:35 A.M.

Here I sit, computer perched on wet bar, two drinks into the night, unable to sleep.

Of the few emerging benefits of my current living situation (read: in-between jobs and "recuperating with my parents) and pseudo "vacation" (as mentioned in a previous post), I am again made aware of a major one: the opportunity I am afforded to mete out nights like this and glance at a nocturnal lifestyle I once heartily embraced, but which years of work and physical wear have made mostly a distant memory.

Many times, I have mused to myself that if I could feel as I typically do after one drink, I could achieve anything. Just earlier, one whiskey and coke downed, I could have cheerily sat and directed my band through several sets, openly discussed philosophy, religion, film, culture, et al and felt as a sage in so doing, the fear and (self) loathing (all apologies, Hunter Thompson) which typically assails me while sober as a serpent crushed beneath my heel. Hell, perhaps even taught a class, an occupation I still consider to this day, paltry salary or no. To take up the whip of master and heartily beat all into submission, whether in shared pleasure or retribution. In short, to heartily, and fearlessly, embrace several underlying but nevertheless omnipresent desires buried deep within.

But, as I've often mused about us Irish, we have discovered in the spirits (chemical, not otherworldly) a doorway to the truth of self. "In Vino Veritas", the Romans long ago inscribed, and never were truer words spoken or writ. In discovering such truths, one naturally wishes to know more.

And so, I reach for another drink. And slip further into the muted ambiance that morning will bring, along with headaches and, doubtlessly, the long-standing fatigue and subsequent depression that another erratically-slept night will bring.

Fuck. So close, again. So wanting to write more, but, to paraphrase Cordelia in "King Lear", I cannot force my heart into my throat.

So...*swig*

7:48PM - *Everybody sing*: Your own...personal...

The Pope is now on Twitter.

I really can't come up with a one-liner to follow that.

7:54PM - Fetch me a basin...

...I think my brain just threw up.

After today's latest frustrating online job search, I found myself once again seated on the porch behind my family property, glass of whiskey and Coke nearby. Though initially intending to just pass a few hours with my nose buried in a book, I felt somehow compelled to bring a notebook with me, at first intending to see if I couldn't dig a few would-be song lyrics out of my head. Then, the ghost of some mad philosopher jumped into my drink, and I found myself penning the following observations:

- "When the end result is not visible before you, how far will you dig to unearth it? And what worms are you willing to have your spade uncover?"

- "When one mouth starves, it must be fed. When many mouths starve, nations DIE".

- "It has been said 'When a man lies, he murders some part of the world'. Yet sometimes, when a man speaks true, he murders himself".

- "Is not the need for employ the end result of supply failing to meet demand, or vice versa? Just how big a myth is the Horn of Plenty? Or did we create it?"

- "In activity, great fatigue. In inactivity, great yearning".

- "The medium of music is as much a sword as a balm; as stabbing to the savage beast as soothing. Yet the birthing thereof almost always begets pain (just ask Mozart)".

- "I want, and am condemned as selfish. I give, and am condemned as weak-willed. Therefore can the servant never fully rule without great sacrifice of support, and the ruler not serve fully without great sacrifice of self".

- "Alcohol: a little inspires, too much possesses. Hence the term 'spirits'. We Irish know this".

- "If the gods created man, where have they gone? If man created the gods, what have we done with them?"

- "Too much direction confuses. So, too, does none. Where is the line drawn?"

- "Love is lust re-directed. Though only the latter is seen as sin, both can (and frequently do) destroy".

- "Is all desire nothing more than the call of our own personal beast? If so what, then, is abstinence: defiance, or death?"

- "What the night presents as fresh and new in the way of possibility, the morning frequently reduces to ashen whim". (Ok, those last two were a tad too vampiric; sue me).

- "If art imitates life (or vice versa), is it wrong to wish to be as a thing of art and nothing more? Or is all art quite useless, as Wilde proposed?"

- "I speak much to myself, and am as a prophet. I speak much to the masses, and am as a fool".

If time travel ever does become a possibility, please let me know ASAP so I can pay a visit to Socrates, Descartes, et al before I really do go out of my gourd...

11:25PM - Ruins to the north, riches to the south?

"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."
-- Edgar Allan Poe

"Drifting in the hollow heavens
It's always more than we can see
And all the children scream to someone
starving on defeat.."
-- Solitude Aeturnus, "Only This (and Nothing More)"

Ok...those seem apropos. Not that I've ever been one to resist the impact a well-placed quote makes on the reader, but these two seem best to sum up the maelstrom blowing through my head for the past near-half year. Of course, doing that in full would be akin to summing up the complete works of Shakespeare in two paragraphs; amusing, perhaps, but definitely lacking.

Being away from writing here from as long as I tend to be at certain stretches is USUALLY due to to an inability to find anything of note to share here, overly-flowery writing tendencies or no. Here, however, the absence has been due to something else entirely: deliberate concealment of my living conditions for the past several months.

Yes, I'm a solitary sort by nature (often to a fault, as many have pointed out). Yes, I often do clam up about my own personal self-concerns (frequently to a fault, as even more have pointed out). But there comes a time when all lids must be torn off, all masks cast aside. So here goes...

As of January of this year, I found myself living alone at my soon-to-be-former home in York. Though the circumstances which found me there between my soon-to-be-ex and I were handled as amicably as possible, the aftermath only served to bring to light a self-realization that I often have: I am not anywhere near ready to handle certain things which I had heretofore believed (and wished) I could. In this particular case, solitary living and self-sufficiency.

That I found myself stretched out on the couch, half-dozing, bottle of rum at my feet and watching "Secret Window" on that first night alone should have been a dead giveaway that I needed to get my ass out of there and turn to family and friends immediately before such conditions threatened to drive me out of my skull (and, for a time, I did). But, as is so often the case with misguided self-images, I wanted to believe. Believe that I was moving toward what was then, and had long been, an ideal prototype: that of the paradoxical "sociable hermit"; a guy able to hobnob with the world when he wished, comfortable in the knowledge that there would always be a safe, solitary haven of his own to return to when said world got to be a bit too overwhelming.

As the bills piled up and the paychecks dwindled, said wish melted like the snow and ice outside. And so, out of desperation, I did turn to a (now-former) friend who shall go nameless here for "living assistance"; i.e. - I offered to have him temporarily move in as my co-tenant in exchange for assistance in paying the afore-mentioned bills and tutoring me a bit on the finer points of living alone which, I'm embarrassed to say, is an experience that I've never really had.

To put it briefly, the arrangement turned out to be a nightmare. I don't doubt that the sternest, switch-wielding pedagogues of days past would have looked at said arrangement and ultimately called it "abuse". It is one thing to teach through stern reprimands in the hopes that such treatment will lead the student to a perceived goal, quite another to make said goal nigh-unattainable in the mind of the student thanks to the increasing sternness of the lectures. In layman's terms, I wound up scared shitless of someone who was supposed to be helping me.

The nadir came one weekend ago, when I had tentatively arranged to have my ex stop by the house to pick up her remaining stuff from the attic, while my tenant and I would be away at band practice. I tried to arrange things wherein the two would not cross paths; suffice it to say, they hate each other so intensely that I feared another encounter with the two would result in a hospital visit for one or both. Then, as has so often been the case in the past, my car once again decided to completely fail me when I needed it the worst. I unsuccessfully attempted to sleep that evening, fear of said encounter looming in my brain all fucking night.

Thus came morning, and an already-planned meeting with my parents over breakfast. The stress of the evening's ruminations was doubtlessly the cause of what happened next, as was the lack of sleep it brought. But I think the true catalyst came when I found myself eying the belt laying coiled on the floor by my bed that morning and wondering exactly how much pressure it would take, when tightened around my throat, to cause me to lose consciousness and quietly expire.

Tears in my eyes, I looked at them and said "rescue me". Though they repeated, over and over, that it had been their wish to do so for me for several months, what sense of self-pride I may have had previously died in my throat.

But I could no longer go on. The house felt like more of a tomb than ever as we quietly made our way back to break the news to my tenant that I was leaving and he needed to follow suit (in short, going back on the entire arrangement). Needless to say, he wasn't happy, and I haven't heard from him since (and hope I never need to again, although, as most of his stuff still sits in the place, is probably wishful thinking).

And so, here I've been: at my parents' place for the last week, seeking work, solace, and something of an answer as to what will come next.

Bright points? They've largely come in the form of (what else?) my current band. Link is here, for anyone interested:

http://www.facebook.com/mobileprotection#!/pages/Fire-in-Elysium/214387908592975

Unlike the above confessions, I won't get into too much more detail on it so as not to: a.) jinx the entire thing and b.) seem to be shamelessly self-promoting myself. I will, however, say that it was probably what tempted me to come back and post here, as a text message received earlier from the drummer announcing that we now have facebook likes in 4 different countries has me all at once feeling elated, wistful, self-critical, and a bit scared all at once.

But by and large, it wags a finger in my face and reminds me that I can't stay invisible forever, despite all of the warts.

Yes, I need help. Yes, I'm an asshole at times. Yes, I'm a highly depressive fuck who often has great disdain for the world. But I also need it.

There, I said it. Time for a bath and (heaven forbid) sleep.

Perchance to dream?

7:34AM - Reznorrok

Borrowed from the Facebook page of smokierings:

"'Pretty Hate Machine' is 22 years old. O_O"

In a response, she muses about having friends who may have been conceived to "Kinda I Want To".

I do believe a fresh bottle of rum is in order for this next paycheck...

8:46PM - Til All Are One

I do apologize for potentially keeping everyone who reads this journal hanging: when last I posted, it was on the heels of an incredibly rough month of October. Gina and Mike were due to be leaving in two months, her parents had then briefly split. So, an update is in order:

- The in-laws are back together and resolved.
- Gina and Mike have since left and I have the house to MYSELF. With the assistance of friends, I should be able to keep it alone.
- Neska and I have amicably backed off a tad on our relationship before it became something neither of us could handle.
- The coming year bespeaks of yielding much in the way of life, music, and career. Stay tuned. ;)

11:00PM - The Degeneration Continues

I just received word that my in-laws have abruptly split up.

While this news no longer concerns me directly, it's nonetheless the latest stinging downer in what's been a week of them so far.

Must take meds. And ignore any feeling that I'm being cosmically punished (damned emotional Sunday school backlash...).

1:08PM - Reasons for giving up hope...

...Here's one George Carlin missed out on:

"A woman who is the Attorney General of Connecticut just issued an order stating that anyone wearing WWE merchandise to the polls will NOT be allowed to vote."

Seig fuckin' heil. 'Scuse me while I finish flushing what remains of my first amendment rights...

8:58PM - Fatal Vision

Bad weekend.

Ever had a moment in your life when it comes to your attention that the image everyone seems to be getting of you is anything but pretty?

I just had that this weekend past. It had me wanting to throw my bass against a brick wall and hang myself with the strings.

I'm still here, and it still sits propped on its stand, so that didn't happen. But everything still stings.

More later (possibly)...

10:08PM - Timon Again

Just attended Renn Faire in PA last weekend, and may be going to the one in MD this weekend. As is usually the case, this has inspired me to "brush up on my Shakespeare", as the old song goes.

But the well-known stuff wouldn't do. Classic though they are, I've read Hamlet, Macbeth, Julius Caesar, King Lear, et al dozens of times. So I have as late been turning to the lesser known stuff, starting with "Timon of Athens".

A strong suggestion for those who know me: READ IT. I identify with the title character, or have found myself doing so, many times. This is not necessarily a good thing, as I think you'll find.

P.S. - Was once again reminded that attending Faire can be a bad idea if you're celibate...particularly when it's not by your own choice. This is one of many reasons why I only worked there for one season.

Forgive me, I grumble. :p

10:56PM - To Rest at Last

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3QSkux3vcQ&ob=av2e

I thank you if you've kept with me through this little journey, existential as it is...

8:51PM - October Heart Awaits You...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1WcGXpqfnE

Another, as we enter into the lowest cloister...

7:58PM - Mantra number 2

A little more:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpz2AWu4PZg

7:47PM - Meditate with me

Come sit in the ashram...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAdRCUsqg-U

7:26PM - Clean

Clean
The cleanest I've been
An end to the tears
And the in-between years
And the troubles I've seen

Now that I'm clean
You know what I mean
I've broken my fall
Put an end to it all
I've changed my routine
Now I'm clean

I don't understand
What destiny's planned
I'm starting to grasp
What is in my own hands
I don't claim to know
Where my holiness goes
I just know that I like
What is starting to show

Sometimes

As years go by
All the feelings inside
Twist and they turn
As they ride with the tide
I don't advise
And I don't criticise
I just know what I like
With my own eyes

Sometimes...