Monday, December 7, 2009

Over A Month?

I cannot believe that over a month has passed since this blog was updated.
It's not that nothing worth writing about has taken place.
I saw my son for the first time in five and a half-years and had an absolutely wonderful reunion.
A few days later, a dear friend of ours (and the former lead guitarist for the best band I've ever played in) came to visit. Hadn't seen him in six years.
Over the span of that week, we hit a lot of bars, heard a lot of great, live music and had huge fun.
So, yeah... plenty to write about.
I just haven't had very much confidence in my writing, as of late.
Still, I'm going to rectify this matter and get busy playing catch-up here and on my CB II blog.
So, thanks for your patience and for checking in here once in a while.
I will do much better... promise.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Cannonballin', Y'all!

Yeah, I'm part of Pajiba's Cannonball Read II.
I have a blog and everything!
It's here.
Did a quick review of Richard Matheson's "Hell House".
Check it out, will ya?

Friday, October 30, 2009

Ah, Friday...

Great tunes, good friends and cold beer.
One could ask for nothing more.

Hey, I understand that not many people born after 1970 really love (not "appreciate" or "respect" but ass-over-teakettle LOVE) The Beatles and that's okay... ya kinda had to be there and I'm glad that I was.

This is a video shot for the "Hello, Goodbye" single, filmed when they were still "The Beatles" and not just four guys who had to show up at a recording studio once in awhile and bitch about each other's girlfriends. Watching it reminded me of why I loved them as a band.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Dear God

Something very, very bad happened last night.
I owe all of you an enormous apology.
I wish I could also provide you with an explanation but I don't really know what happened.
Something snapped and sent me into an extremely dark place that no one should ever be exposed to... most especially the dear friends who take time to come here, read and comment on my ramblings.
I finished composing the last blog entry and then something caused a spiral down into a weird fugue state, a place where all of the emotions that are normally held in check came rushing out in a torrent of self-loathing.
Again, I owe all of you an apology and to many of you, a huge debt of gratitude.
Instead of writing me off as just another bat-shit crazy blogger, you stood by me, offered advice and assistance and proved, once again, just what incredibly wonderful human beings you all are.
I feel so utterly ridiculous.
So many people have really serious, real - world problems and for me to just lose it like that because I have "mommy and daddy" issues shows that, as the sage said, I need to shut up and nut up.
I stand by what I said in my last blog: We all have something to say and we have a place to say it... and for that I am grateful.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a pie.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Don't......Stop.....

When do you give up?
When do you say that it's just not worth the time or the effort to try and stay abreast of everything that's going on in the world and just stop caring?
When do you decide that the music you loved last year is good enough for this year and that there's really no point in searching out anything new?
When do you sit down with a well worn paperback and say to yourself: "Damn. I'd rather read this for a third time than try any of that crap that the NYT Review of Books is pushing this week"?
When do you quit?

Never.
Never quit.
Never give up on yourself... your heart, your brain, your soul, your creative spirit or your life.
It's hard.
I'll be 56 on my next birthday but I'd rather be fucked by Satan than decide I am too old to stop looking for something that fires my creative soul and then trying to express it in a meaningful way.
I'm writing because there's a need to put something out into the world to say "HEY! I'm alive!"
I have something to say.
I'm saying it to you, right now.
I'm pretty sure that you have something to say and I'd like to read it.
I'd be honored if you would allow it. 
Thanks for stopping by.
Next time, we'll have pie.
Promise.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Bandits and Vandals









"We are bandits and vandals,
  thieves and assassins.
  Heartless marauders,
  abroad in the night.
  Bereft of all conscience.
  Our souls without pity.
  The methods we use
  on the victims we choose
  leave them welcoming death with delight
  once we cast them back into the light."

"...Double Murder Most Foul." Part Four


Nice complex, huh?
That's the view from just outside an apartment I rented at The Tennyson Arms complex in Waco, Texas back in 1983. I worked for a small radio station and was thrilled to find this apartment which was within walking distance of work and, more importantly, within staggering distance of a club called 'Abracadabra' where most of us hung out after work.
It was a little pricey for someone on my salary but I was single and the location alone made it worthwhile, so I happily moved in.
Two things: First, I wondered how such a prime location was available. It was such a cool place and so close to everything that it should have been occupied all of the time. Second, when touring the place, I noticed two stains on the bedroom carpet which the agent said would be replaced immediately if I wanted to wait a few days or I could just move in and they'd replace it at my convenience. Anxious to get settled, I chose the latter.
The first couple of weeks were fairly uneventful. I spent my days at work, many evenings in the club and the nights sleeping peacefully. After the rather harrowing experiences at my previous apartment I was grateful for the relative calm in the new place. Sadly, it wouldn't last long.
Since I had no desk at the time, I did a lot of job related paperwork at my tiny dining table, with various stacks of paper pretty well covering the surface. It was on one of these nights that the weirdness began happening.
As I sat at the table, plugging away on a new music playlist, a stack of paper on the top right-hand corner of the table shuffled a bit... and then the top sheet lifted up and fluttered to the floor. Assuming that there was a draft of some sort, I checked the windows but they were all tightly shut. My next thought was that the table was lined up with the air conditioner vent and that the breeze had moved the paper. Satisfied with that theory, I went back to work and only a few moments later not one but three sheets of paper fluttered up and then down to the floor. Annoyed - but not yet spooked - I picked up the papers and turned the ac unit off then, again, went back to work. On the third occasion, as the papers began to shuffle, it was accompanied by the sound of someone whistling... not something but someone and it sounded as if it were right there in the apartment. Now, I was spooked. No, I was flat out scared and not ashamed to admit it. I did a hasty search of the place, satisfying myself that no one was in the place and got the hell out of there. Once at Abracadabra, I told a couple of co-workers what had happened; they gave me skeptical smirks, told me I was working too hard and after a few beers, I was in full agreement.
Back at home, getting ready for bed, a feeling came over me like nothing I've felt since - there was a presence in that room, vile and malevolent and it was phsically pressing down on me, making it difficult to breathe. My heart was pounding and with some effort I crawled out of bed and went to the living room. Terrified but with nowhere to go, I eventually fell into a fitful sleep on the sofa. The next morning, I decided to spend as little time in the bedroom as possible, gathered a few things there and made the living room my main space.
A couple of days passed with nothing weird taking place but then, the whistling started again, happening at all hours of the night; the poltergeist activity picked up as well, with things being moved or knocked over on a regular basis. I wasn't sure what the hell I was dealing with but did know that it wasn't anything benign or anything that I cared to challenge. Apartment hunting became a priority.
Here's something you should know: I am addicted to iced tea. Most nights, I'll take a large glass and place it on a nearby table before going to sleep so that I'll have a drink should I wake up.
On my last night in the place, I did exactly that. Fresh tea, clean glass, ice. Nothing unusual.
When I woke up the next morning, the glass was still on the coffee table but, dear Lord, it was vile. There was mold and crud growing up from the bottom of the glass. It looked as though it had been sitting there, festering for a week or more and it smelled like death... so much so that I ran to the kitchen and retched into the sink. I walked outside for some air and to clear my head and ran into my upstairs neighbor who wa sitting by the pool. I'd never spoken to the guy but he must have sensed that something was wrong because he asked if I were okay. Without thinking about what he'd think of me, I told him the whole story of my time there and asked if he had ever heard anything or had anything similar happen. His reply was a bit starling: "They didn't tell you before you moved in?"
I asked for details and he told me the story. A couple of months prior to my moving in, the apartment was occupied by a young couple. There were fights, occasionally but nothing too drastic until one evening when the husband came home to find his wife in bed, naked and obviously nervous. He knew exactly what was going on, calmly pulled a .38 from his nightstand, opened the closet door and shot her boyfriend in the head before turning the pistol on her (she had gone towards her husband, asking for forgiveness) and putting a bullet in her heart. After the killings, he sat on the bed and called the police... who were already on their way, thanks to the neighbors hearing everything. As my neighbor told the story, my blood turned ice cold and I knew that everything I'd experienced in that place was as real as anything in this world. The stains on the bedroom carpet - which I'd been meaning to have replaced - were bloodstains which someone had tried to clean up but not done a good job. I was, at this point, ready to get the hell out of the place and told the leasing office I'd be leaving that day, they never asked why and even returned my deposit. I stayed at a co-workers place until finding another apartment but I had and continue to have dreams about that apartment and the nightmare scenario that took place.