In the future somewhere, there is a funeral parlor with a closed casket and Bod Dylan's voice creaking over what will likely be an inferior speaker for such an event, while a professional man with a white carnation on his lapel checks his watch to see how much time until he has to start ferrying people out so they can prepare for the next service.
It's all very depressing this death anticipation that tends to grab me from time to time, and it's not in the sense that I was in the hospital for a four day jag, listening to the man in the next room, who only seemed to wake up in the middle of the night to cry out "help" in a dry voice and wondering if all the monitors I was hooked up to would suddenly scramble into some kind of electronic, bleeping anarchy just as the lights fade and all the sounds get warped and whatever happens after that happens. Whether that's an angry, vengeful God waiting there with numchuks to beat me into oblivion for being a skeptic, or some kind of eternal reward, or maybe even the worst: inky, black nothingness, I don't know, and to be quite honest I don't really want to think about that right now.
And I don't really want to think about any of it, but I once again find myself over tired and my "shuffle song" playlist seems to be leaning towards the morbid.
I thought I was over this whole thing, but then "In My Life" kicks on.
Supposedly they played that at Cobain's service, so of course I've insisted in some shoddily written, non-leagally binding will I scribbled down that probably won't be found until 4 years after I'm dead, that it be played at mine.
Anyway, I'm sick of waiting around with nervous energy wondering which internal organ will start spouting blood, or where the tumor is going to pop up, or if my heart is going to slow down or just explode this time. Or you know the insane fear that somehow I'm going to be crushed or trapped, or murdered, or the immediacy of a car accident that leave the steering wheel crushed in your chest. I can hear how that sounds, just the crunch of the metal and plastic bending. It sounds fake, but the next thing you realize once you get your wits is that it actually did happen.
Yeah all that.
All that is never too far from getting prime time slots in the frontal lobe.
Brutal miserable thoughts. The kind of thing miserable teenagers who can't get dates should be thinking about before they go to college and realize they're really good at science.
Well I'm not good at science, so maybe that's why I never shed some of this teen angst bullshit.
Of course, it comes and goes. Other times I don't really give a fuck. Whatever will be will be.
The story gets ugly on all sides. I'm afraid of the future which is stupid because I don't even know if I'm going to be in it.
I'm afraid of living on an overheated rock with the oceans in my living room while President Palin is on television letting me know that she's going to lob some cruise missles all over the globe because being America means doing whatever the fuck you want and never having to say sorry, while dozens of people you see at the super market pump their fists and chant USA, USA. But of course she does it in a cute, folksy way.
It'll be serious times in the future.
They'll be no music, or expression, or fun.
That's what the future looks like to me some days.
That's what it looked like to me today.
I guess there's always tomorrow.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
everything quiet on the long trail outside
at 9:30 he decided to stop. he couldn't remember the last time he put this amount of effort into a singular project without blaring distractions about other things pecking away at him. Some jazz quietly waffled across the breeze running through the house. His hands were stained with marker streaks, a bi-product of the drawings he unleashed on the poster boards in front of him. He wasn't an artist, never had any real propensity to draw, or create, but he found the package of poster boards, someone must have left them in the house, and he had the magic markers, and he couldn't think of a whole lot else to do with his time.
The girl would have been proud of him but she was gone now and probably not coming back. Something felt funny about having her around constantly so he started an argument. At first she thought he was kidding when he complained that she must have eaten all the Kosher Dill pickles he enjoyed on his sandwiches. He griped about this for several minutes before he began violently pulling items from the refrigerator and throwing them to the floor in between shouts of calling her "selfish" and a "liar". It didn't take long for the girl to leave, promising to return when he wanted to "call to say he was sorry". As of now he hadn't called and had no intention of doing so. He liked the girl but it seemed like he got more done without her there.
Now that the squeaks of the markers had ceased the silence in the house was in stereo. He peered his eyes back and forth as if to make sure he had been alone the whole time. He looked down at his new works spread out across floor amidst full ashtrays, plates of dried up food and dirty laundry. He was working with three colors, green, black and red. When he'd first started making these lines across the white paper he wasn't sure what he was trying to get, and now that he was done, now that he realized he put such effort, such focus, into it he felt that there must be something to it. He studied the wild lines, the shapes, the circles, the boxes he filled in with vicious streaks. He even looked at the quiet spots on the paper, where nothing was filled in. Maybe all this summed him up in some surreal, abstract way, maybe he was just a bundle of noise trapped inside a box, shooting around trying to get into the quiet. Of course it was equally just as possible that he just needed to get outside for a little while.
The girl would have been proud of him but she was gone now and probably not coming back. Something felt funny about having her around constantly so he started an argument. At first she thought he was kidding when he complained that she must have eaten all the Kosher Dill pickles he enjoyed on his sandwiches. He griped about this for several minutes before he began violently pulling items from the refrigerator and throwing them to the floor in between shouts of calling her "selfish" and a "liar". It didn't take long for the girl to leave, promising to return when he wanted to "call to say he was sorry". As of now he hadn't called and had no intention of doing so. He liked the girl but it seemed like he got more done without her there.
Now that the squeaks of the markers had ceased the silence in the house was in stereo. He peered his eyes back and forth as if to make sure he had been alone the whole time. He looked down at his new works spread out across floor amidst full ashtrays, plates of dried up food and dirty laundry. He was working with three colors, green, black and red. When he'd first started making these lines across the white paper he wasn't sure what he was trying to get, and now that he was done, now that he realized he put such effort, such focus, into it he felt that there must be something to it. He studied the wild lines, the shapes, the circles, the boxes he filled in with vicious streaks. He even looked at the quiet spots on the paper, where nothing was filled in. Maybe all this summed him up in some surreal, abstract way, maybe he was just a bundle of noise trapped inside a box, shooting around trying to get into the quiet. Of course it was equally just as possible that he just needed to get outside for a little while.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
and finally the truth
"So you just came back to me because you realized there was nothing better out there?" she asked.
"Actually no, I realized there is a lot better out there than you but I just can't get any of it."
"Actually no, I realized there is a lot better out there than you but I just can't get any of it."
Friday, October 23, 2009
The New Milford Exploding Sewers
Been that kind of week, where you feel half nuts and scared that whatever shitty mood you're in is going to last the rest of your life. Blood pressure spikes and drops. Old memories stirring the pot. Teenage Angst. Jesus. How fucking old am I?Everyone knows everyone some how, and everyone had it together long before I learned that being a prick was my favorite hat to wear.
Maybe I'm just tired or in failing health, trying to mainline the fall, and build momentum up to some kind of explosively creative breakdown that'll sum up all the shit I've been trying to say for last 20 years. All the God bargains and fresh starts and do overs and new waves of ambition that take you around in long circles until you run back home and try to disappear.
At least there's deep sleep and dreams of fire blasting out of the sewers on the streets of New Milford.
Maybe I'm just tired or in failing health, trying to mainline the fall, and build momentum up to some kind of explosively creative breakdown that'll sum up all the shit I've been trying to say for last 20 years. All the God bargains and fresh starts and do overs and new waves of ambition that take you around in long circles until you run back home and try to disappear.
At least there's deep sleep and dreams of fire blasting out of the sewers on the streets of New Milford.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Rocktober Rarrives: Las Vegas, The Batman, and a Slew of Self Indulgent Nonsense I Want to Spew if I'm Ever Going to Contribute Anything to Society
Ahh. Thank you October for driving a stake through that rotten Indian Summer we were having. Sure I'll miss the 65-70 days and nights that were so beautiful I'd dedicate significant portions of the evening kicking myself for not thinking of better ways to spend them. But I won't miss those occasional 85 degree blasts during the ass-end of September, long after the air conditioner has been disassembled and I've just gotten used to dressing in my super-hero costume of three or four layers and a sweatshirt zipped up to keep it all tucked in just to find out, no it's going to be warm tonight and you're going to look like a nervous pervert sweating and uncomfortable and probably drunk. Not that I can blame the drunk thing on the weather I guess.
No no no, October came running through the gate with a nice cool blast that seemed to come out of nowhere, like someone just fixed the weather machine. Had it been working we would have eased into this. I love the fucking fall. I love all the peripheral bullshit that comes with it: dead leaves, baseball playoffs, football, layers of clothes and blankets, Halloween all of it. I love everyone's dumb facebook status complaining about how cold it is.
But enough of that shit. This whole thing was to purge all the rottenness that's been building up the last month or so. So let's get into some random bullshit and see what sticks to the wall. Starting with:
-I don't know if I like the Germs. I'm listening to them right now, and I'm wondering if that movie "What We Do Is Secret" kind of ruined them for me. I was never huge on them to begin with, but that movie seemed to be doing the same douchey thing they did in the Doors movie with the "Wow man, that is so amazing. It's like you copied your lyrics off God's tongue". You know making the dead guy look like some prophet who just couldn't handle the fame, he just wanted people to like his words. And maybe that's true for all I know, but that doesn't mean it makes a good movie. Of course having said that I loved the Doors movie when I was in my teens and probably even ruined a few bands and friendships by doing stupid drunk shit because I thought Jim Morrison would have done it. But I never claimed that I wasn't a fucking moron. Maybe the Germs cult following will blow up and in 10 years they'll be on Classic Rock radio once an hour, but I kind of doubt it. Anyway the song is over now and I kind of don't care anymore.
-Speaking of Classic Rock Radio and what not I kind of am having a rekindling of my love affair with the Rolling Stones. This happens about once every two years where I listen to Exile on Main St. and for some reason get surprised at how good it is. Or maybe listen to Goat's Head Soup or Some Girls or any of those 70's records and want to start looking for plutonium or try harnessing a bolt of lightning to take my Pontiac back to 1973. Sticky Fingers, however remains the money Stones album in my opinion.
Moving along.
- I am desperately trying to beat this fucking Batman Arkham Asylum game. It's doing serious damage to my psyche, beyond the fact that I'm a 31 year old man, well past his prime, staring at screen for three hours, cursing the batteries in my controller once every 10 minutes, trying to outsmart the fucking Riddler. I will solve all of his puzzles and I'm at the point where I'll use the online walkthroughs if I have to because he must stopped and, perhaps more importantly, I have to stop playing this game. I sometimes find myself unable to sleep wondering what I would have to do to set up my own crimefighting operation here in Brick. The safest town in New Jersey. Of course you never can be too safe can you? I mean I already have a black car and a back entrance to my house. I have a lot of black clothes, and even though I'm far too fat to be taking out 'city criminals' I'm sure I could handle whatever lowball crimials pollute Brick. Especially if I'm sneaking up on them in the dark. I guess I'll have to give it some thought. Either that or beat the game and hopefully never think of it again.
-Las Vegas. The show. NBC ran it for several years this decade, it starred James Caan and bunch of models most who had an acting range that went from smile for "happy" and furrowed brow for angry, confused, or anything that falls under "not happy". The premise of the show is kind of a take off of Casino but trying to look like Oceans 11. It's a pretty terrible show, it's a sexed-up Love Boat in a casino with ridiculous storylines, mostly lame guest stars and shitty effects. James Caan beats the shit out of someone every episode and all the models take turns fucking each other. It's become the preferred show around dinner time in the ol' McGann homestead and having said everything I just did I really can't stop watching it. It's not good, it doesn't get better, I don't particularly like any of the characters, though Vanessa Marecel's "Sam" is getting close to melting my ice-heart, I don't give a shit what happens but I can't stop watching it. Part of this is surely just laziness on my part, another part of this is that I know it got cancelled so I'm somewhat curious to see if it actually got worse, or maybe it started getting good and alienated the audience. And the other reason I watch is that one day, and I know it will happen, when somehow the show comes up in conversation and someone goes: "Oh my God I used to LOVE that show" I have a carefully researched opinion to politely argue the other side with.
What else is bothering me.
Writers' block.
Career
women
life
$$$
Yeah all that shit I guess
but that's nothing new.
I feel better actually.
Purged.
Thanks Blogger page that no one reads.
No no no, October came running through the gate with a nice cool blast that seemed to come out of nowhere, like someone just fixed the weather machine. Had it been working we would have eased into this. I love the fucking fall. I love all the peripheral bullshit that comes with it: dead leaves, baseball playoffs, football, layers of clothes and blankets, Halloween all of it. I love everyone's dumb facebook status complaining about how cold it is.
But enough of that shit. This whole thing was to purge all the rottenness that's been building up the last month or so. So let's get into some random bullshit and see what sticks to the wall. Starting with:
-I don't know if I like the Germs. I'm listening to them right now, and I'm wondering if that movie "What We Do Is Secret" kind of ruined them for me. I was never huge on them to begin with, but that movie seemed to be doing the same douchey thing they did in the Doors movie with the "Wow man, that is so amazing. It's like you copied your lyrics off God's tongue". You know making the dead guy look like some prophet who just couldn't handle the fame, he just wanted people to like his words. And maybe that's true for all I know, but that doesn't mean it makes a good movie. Of course having said that I loved the Doors movie when I was in my teens and probably even ruined a few bands and friendships by doing stupid drunk shit because I thought Jim Morrison would have done it. But I never claimed that I wasn't a fucking moron. Maybe the Germs cult following will blow up and in 10 years they'll be on Classic Rock radio once an hour, but I kind of doubt it. Anyway the song is over now and I kind of don't care anymore.
-Speaking of Classic Rock Radio and what not I kind of am having a rekindling of my love affair with the Rolling Stones. This happens about once every two years where I listen to Exile on Main St. and for some reason get surprised at how good it is. Or maybe listen to Goat's Head Soup or Some Girls or any of those 70's records and want to start looking for plutonium or try harnessing a bolt of lightning to take my Pontiac back to 1973. Sticky Fingers, however remains the money Stones album in my opinion.
Moving along.
- I am desperately trying to beat this fucking Batman Arkham Asylum game. It's doing serious damage to my psyche, beyond the fact that I'm a 31 year old man, well past his prime, staring at screen for three hours, cursing the batteries in my controller once every 10 minutes, trying to outsmart the fucking Riddler. I will solve all of his puzzles and I'm at the point where I'll use the online walkthroughs if I have to because he must stopped and, perhaps more importantly, I have to stop playing this game. I sometimes find myself unable to sleep wondering what I would have to do to set up my own crimefighting operation here in Brick. The safest town in New Jersey. Of course you never can be too safe can you? I mean I already have a black car and a back entrance to my house. I have a lot of black clothes, and even though I'm far too fat to be taking out 'city criminals' I'm sure I could handle whatever lowball crimials pollute Brick. Especially if I'm sneaking up on them in the dark. I guess I'll have to give it some thought. Either that or beat the game and hopefully never think of it again.
-Las Vegas. The show. NBC ran it for several years this decade, it starred James Caan and bunch of models most who had an acting range that went from smile for "happy" and furrowed brow for angry, confused, or anything that falls under "not happy". The premise of the show is kind of a take off of Casino but trying to look like Oceans 11. It's a pretty terrible show, it's a sexed-up Love Boat in a casino with ridiculous storylines, mostly lame guest stars and shitty effects. James Caan beats the shit out of someone every episode and all the models take turns fucking each other. It's become the preferred show around dinner time in the ol' McGann homestead and having said everything I just did I really can't stop watching it. It's not good, it doesn't get better, I don't particularly like any of the characters, though Vanessa Marecel's "Sam" is getting close to melting my ice-heart, I don't give a shit what happens but I can't stop watching it. Part of this is surely just laziness on my part, another part of this is that I know it got cancelled so I'm somewhat curious to see if it actually got worse, or maybe it started getting good and alienated the audience. And the other reason I watch is that one day, and I know it will happen, when somehow the show comes up in conversation and someone goes: "Oh my God I used to LOVE that show" I have a carefully researched opinion to politely argue the other side with.
What else is bothering me.
Writers' block.
Career
women
life
$$$
Yeah all that shit I guess
but that's nothing new.
I feel better actually.
Purged.
Thanks Blogger page that no one reads.
Friday, September 11, 2009
everything weird/quiet
There's an alien coming out of the speakers. It sounds like it anyway.
I'm trying to figure out if two characters are going to fuck.
I say fuck not to cheapen it or whatever, if you're more comfortable with terms like "making love" then you're probably an asshole but that's besides the point, because if these two were to have sex it would be fucking, there would no love involved, it would be dirty and very little emotion at all with the possible exception of mutual disgust.
But while I'm trying to figure this out there's an alien crawling through the speaker.
It's actually not your run of the mill slimy, green, wide eyed alien, it's just a sound. My alien is a sound. And it's in the speaker and it wants out.
I think I figured out my little "fucking" problem.
It's coming out weird because it is weird.
There are aliens in the room.
No more shadow faced maniacs grabbing at the doorknobs.
Just weird sounds.
Just aliens.
I'm trying to figure out if two characters are going to fuck.
I say fuck not to cheapen it or whatever, if you're more comfortable with terms like "making love" then you're probably an asshole but that's besides the point, because if these two were to have sex it would be fucking, there would no love involved, it would be dirty and very little emotion at all with the possible exception of mutual disgust.
But while I'm trying to figure this out there's an alien crawling through the speaker.
It's actually not your run of the mill slimy, green, wide eyed alien, it's just a sound. My alien is a sound. And it's in the speaker and it wants out.
I think I figured out my little "fucking" problem.
It's coming out weird because it is weird.
There are aliens in the room.
No more shadow faced maniacs grabbing at the doorknobs.
Just weird sounds.
Just aliens.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The ever-evolving funeral setlist
Stevie Ray Vaughan- Little Wing
Nothing against Hendrix's version but this one is longer and instrumental. There's live ones that Hendrix and Vaughan did that would certainly qualify, but they're mostly bootlegged stuff and this is after all a formal session here. I don't want some hackey-low-fi copy burned off Limewire hissing during MY thing.
Here's a few that I really don't feel like I have to say anything about; just kind of dark songs, and you know, it'll be a funeral not a FUNeral. Well maybe it'll be a FUNeral, but there must be a proper amount of misery or hauntings will happen.
Rolling Stones-Moonlight Mile
George Harrison Isn't It a Pity?
Alice in Chains- Nutshell/Rotten Apple
Tom Waits -Anywhere I Lay my Head
Nick Cave-hmmmmm-Lay Me Low? ehhhhhh, nah, how bout Hold Onto Yourself
Radiohead- Life in a Glasshouse
There are probably better examples of songs that sound like a funeral march and kind of get a little eye wink in there about it actually being a funeral but I don't give a fuck. To me this is particularly forceful and should drag some tears out of some of you pricks, especially the second time through the refrain at the end.
U2-Exit
Well maybe just the intro section. Not that there's anything wrong with the rest of it, but it's a little too U2 80's for a funeral, I will not encourage random bursts of standing and clapping and call and response at my fucking funeral.
well maybe I will.
Pearl Jam-Oceans It was kind of between this and Release and then I remembered something.....
Pearl Jam-Release it's my fucking funeral and I can have as much Eddie Vedder as I want. In fact...
Pearl Jam-Yellow Ledbetter 6/26/08 MSG well maybe the studio version would be better, this was from a show I went to with Blumes and while it was really great and all the national anthem at the end is a little not my speed for a death march. I mean I wasn't in the military or anything.
Nirvana-hmmm I guess All Apologies It's kind of a cliche, and maybe I'll think of something better or, RARER so I can show off my Cobain-IQ but album-wise I guess it would be easier to pick something off the Unplugged, maybe Oh Me but that's not even a Nirvana song and I always remember it from one of those weird tribute videos. Ditto for Jesus Don't Want Me For a Sunbeam. Where Did You Sleep Last Night was always my favorite from that show by a mile but that's a little, I don't know, I guess lets go with.....
Nirvana-Where Did you Sleep Last Night? but you can keep the In Utero All Apologies in there too.
I feel like I'm getting a little too easy here.
What's next The End?
When the Music's OVer? (maybe)
The Doors-Shaman's Blues Now this song starts off with the line "there will never be another one like you" and well that might come off as some kind of self gratifying bullshit, but I don't want it because of that, it's just a cool dark-ish Doors kind of song. Probably one of the last ones that they got right with that vibe.
In My Life-The Beatles Just because. It's a cliche but then again so are funerals.
Nothing against Hendrix's version but this one is longer and instrumental. There's live ones that Hendrix and Vaughan did that would certainly qualify, but they're mostly bootlegged stuff and this is after all a formal session here. I don't want some hackey-low-fi copy burned off Limewire hissing during MY thing.
Here's a few that I really don't feel like I have to say anything about; just kind of dark songs, and you know, it'll be a funeral not a FUNeral. Well maybe it'll be a FUNeral, but there must be a proper amount of misery or hauntings will happen.
Rolling Stones-Moonlight Mile
George Harrison Isn't It a Pity?
Alice in Chains- Nutshell/Rotten Apple
Tom Waits -Anywhere I Lay my Head
Nick Cave-hmmmmm-Lay Me Low? ehhhhhh, nah, how bout Hold Onto Yourself
Radiohead- Life in a Glasshouse
There are probably better examples of songs that sound like a funeral march and kind of get a little eye wink in there about it actually being a funeral but I don't give a fuck. To me this is particularly forceful and should drag some tears out of some of you pricks, especially the second time through the refrain at the end.
U2-Exit
Well maybe just the intro section. Not that there's anything wrong with the rest of it, but it's a little too U2 80's for a funeral, I will not encourage random bursts of standing and clapping and call and response at my fucking funeral.
well maybe I will.
Pearl Jam-Oceans It was kind of between this and Release and then I remembered something.....
Pearl Jam-Release it's my fucking funeral and I can have as much Eddie Vedder as I want. In fact...
Pearl Jam-Yellow Ledbetter 6/26/08 MSG well maybe the studio version would be better, this was from a show I went to with Blumes and while it was really great and all the national anthem at the end is a little not my speed for a death march. I mean I wasn't in the military or anything.
Nirvana-hmmm I guess All Apologies It's kind of a cliche, and maybe I'll think of something better or, RARER so I can show off my Cobain-IQ but album-wise I guess it would be easier to pick something off the Unplugged, maybe Oh Me but that's not even a Nirvana song and I always remember it from one of those weird tribute videos. Ditto for Jesus Don't Want Me For a Sunbeam. Where Did You Sleep Last Night was always my favorite from that show by a mile but that's a little, I don't know, I guess lets go with.....
Nirvana-Where Did you Sleep Last Night? but you can keep the In Utero All Apologies in there too.
I feel like I'm getting a little too easy here.
What's next The End?
When the Music's OVer? (maybe)
The Doors-Shaman's Blues Now this song starts off with the line "there will never be another one like you" and well that might come off as some kind of self gratifying bullshit, but I don't want it because of that, it's just a cool dark-ish Doors kind of song. Probably one of the last ones that they got right with that vibe.
In My Life-The Beatles Just because. It's a cliche but then again so are funerals.
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