Dark Moon Days Off for Vagueness Maniac

As a means of unionizing against my over-working, vague-about-when-i-am-working-or-not self , i am basing my work patterns, my obsessing about work, as well as the days i close my biz on the lunar phases. Currently, we are in the dark moon aka new moon phase. The actual day is monday although like some cults, cultures, covens, spiritual practices etc., i am noting the dark moon phase as including 2-3 days before the actual event. "Hush crazy mind, hush," i'm telling myself. "No work, no thinking about work. Just hush."

Emerging from Blackstring Hell—again

Ah! After being vomited out of Blackstring Hell a few weeks ago, I've spent the following time in some foggy recess of my mind. Grisly business this thing within which we exist.
During this time which spread into months (it could have been longer as Blackstring is a non-linear place), I've had many obsessions that the Blackstringers either cursed with or, like a rock climber beginning to fall, I perhaps grabbed onto whatever would hold me. As I stare back, volition remains elusive. TV, crime shows in particular, kept my mind silent. I'd even wake up into the night and immediately turn on the TV. Although a true rarity, I think I have finally gorged myself so badly on the Law and Order shows that like when I ate Lima beans with salt, pepper and butter for three years (of course while in front of the TV watching old Sherlock Holmes movies) I would almost retch if I even saw a box of frozen Limas. This retch-response lasted for about 10 years. I am afraid. Will I have to "Be Here Now" as old Baba Ram Dass insisted in his book "Be Here Now"?

Not yet as two newer shows (as well as new episodes of CSI and The Closer have saved me from myself—Fringe and Eleventh Hour. I am now obsessed with scientist on Fringe. Plus Fringe has cool illness and maladies often accompanied by even cooler special effects. I also find the mad scientist's relationship with his son of some interest. But Eleventh Hour has better plots. I say this as Fringe has that conspiracy theory thing going on. I hated it in X Files; my resentment of it as a backstory/frontstory has not tempered.

Musically, Matthew Schultz's new album Division as well as his website, have also keep me sane (or as close to it as I ever float.)

There have been other things—cool clothes from friends who moved as well as a skeleton closet that looks like it is straight out of a legit funky New Orleans Voodoo shop. And of course, my cadre of friends as well as my brilliant partner in crime...

Dislocations

I have begun to worry and thought I'd put my concerns out into the darkness of the internet. For isn't a problem shared a problem cut in half?

So here's my trouble: you know when you suddenly enter darkness or are thrown into pitch black, that, all you can see is blackness? But, if you wait, and shapes begin to appear? You begin to see the outlines of things—chairs, lamps, bookshelves or, if coutside, garbage bins or the boats by the water. This return of vision, night vision I suppose it is, calms your pounding heart. It gives you a sense of orientation, control and power that you can now negotiate your way through the area.
            
But lately, when I am in my own darkened rooms or other inky places, I've noticed flickers, shapes of things that are not apart of the normal landscape. They do not evolve out of the darkness into chairs, garbage cans even rats. In fact, they do not evolve at all. No matter how much I blink my eyes or command them to focus, my orbs refuse to bring me clarity. As if this wasn't fretful enough. But what I find even more worrisome is that lately even in the bright of day I am seeing flickers of forms, movements of some things dark, unclearly shapened, things that should not be there in my rooms or even in the questionable environs I find myself in.
            
I will be honest. I am heavily medicated. I've wondered if this visual aberration wasn't a side effect of one of the various neurological drugs I must take. But the seeing of things not there is not listed in the copious side effects on the small-print inserts that come with my prescriptions. When I mentioned my concern to Dr. Panchek, he barely glanced up from my chart. He merely snapped it shut and moved the conversation on to how I liked my new abode.
            
"Rats," I said. "There are rats in the alley outside my window."
            
"And how do you know they are there?" Dr. Panchek asked. I knew what he meant. How could I tell the difference between real and imagined was what he was getting at.
            
"By the bites," I said and left it at that.

to be continued...
Wickie

The importance of accents over E's.

My apologies for the delay in getting this up. I got bogged down writing a blog on ergodic literature (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergodic_literature). Hope to get that to you later.

These are my recent radio meanders: since my iBook stopped accessing Pirate Cat Radio (http://www.piratecatradio.com/), I've been listening to Vegan Freak Radio (http://veganfreakradio.com/). Simultaneously, I been trying to find an anarchist podcast /radio show. I found Under the Pavement (http://www.underthepavement.org/) out of Manchester, England. But, so far, I've not heard any news from them, only some music some of which horrified me as it was bad almost American disco. In fact, I think it was both American and disco although they did have some good stuff in there too. No news or interviews yet. I can't say this is their fault as they are only every other week and 8 hours later than my time zone. Am currently listening to Radical Radio (http://radicalradio.org/). I can already feel my eyes (and my mind) glazing over. Even though I was once a member of Line of March, a Marxist-Leninist organization (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Communist_Movement), even then (the 1980's), I was never really able to understand what the fuck people were talking about or keep my attention away from just wanting just slit my throat, get high, or just generally kill myself. Not that I have self-destructive tendencies. I just turned off Radical Radio and will turn back to Vegan Freak. I can listen to it (and do) for hours on end. I can actually do this since I am a latecomer to the podcast and have lots of back episodes to cycle through. Because of their podcast as well as some zine I seem to have recycled (FUCK!), I am aiming my brain towards the SHAC 7 (shac7.com/index.htm). What the hell is that mess all about?

On the book front, I have Thirteen Stories by Eudora Welty  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eudora_Welty) on my chair (not that I've read them). "Why I Live at the P.O.," comes highly recommended. I have managed to eke my way through a few more pages of China Miéville's (http://wwwhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China_Mieville) Perdido Station. That brings me up to page 313, leaving me only approximately 400 pages to go. At this rate, I'll finish it in about five years. ARGH!!!! But a greater accomplishment than completing Perdido is my ability to place an accent over the "e" in China's last name. This is no small feat, especially since I have now launched Monstre Sacré my "handyman to the damned" service. More will be revealed on this at a later date.

My recent music interests have veered into The Residents (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Residents) then stumbled across Lou Reed's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou_Reed) newest release (I think) Hudson River Wind Meditations. This last one, a huge departure for Reed, is great to listen to late at night. It started to feel like the soundtrack to some crazed slasher movie, although I might be a rarity in making this connection to this "new age" effort of Reed's as I find most things menacing.

There are many more things I could dive into, as I suffer from obsessions, but I have to get this fucking up.
Wickie

The project

Last summer I applied for a grant through the Queer Cultural Center (http://queerculturalcenter.org). Per usual, I need money. My project was to bring to life some of my characters from Fugue State my novel-in-progress. The impetus behind my application was lack of funds, the usual artist/writers state of affairs. I hadn't really thought about the project much. Actually, I heard someone at the required grant meeting, say that's what they were going to do. Sounded good and fundable. So I submitted my grant thinking that if I got the money, I'd pull something together for Queer Fest which was the venue for the grant. Well, in lieu of a grant, I was offered AIRspace, an artist-in-residency. On that day, last November, when I said yes I had no idea I'd be entering the writer's fifth circle of hell...

A Good Anarchist Podcast is Hard to Find

Yo. To mention the hour is unnecessary as it is late, late, late. I'm downloading any podcast that is even close to being anarchist. Want to get Under the Pavement, a UK radio station with a podcast, but no luck with the download. I always get seduced into thinking that this time, things will be different, that I'll get ahead. Usually it is some grant or something that Ive applied for and didn't get, but really it is just that ridiculous and evil American myth of class mobility that I've looped into. My partner always says that it it such a big myth in this country, the idea of class mobility that in Europe people have a very different idea about it. Basically, most Europeans have a clearer understanding that whatever class you're in, that's the one you'll stay in. I am lucky because, so far, I've remain pretty broke which keeps me searching for radical podcasts at 3 a.m. so that I can listen to them and feel sane. My favorite podcast right now (other than Veganfreak Radio) is The Angry Hippie podcast. You can find him on iTunes. As I was downloading random radical political podcasts, ones I am new to, I suddenly noticed that little yellow ball spinning next to the Angry Hippie podcast. I was signaling that he has a new one out. Thank fucking god. Now I can lay in bed and listen to him rant-and drag my fevered brain out of some stupid American myth.

Head Wound Podcast #5

Well, we finally recorded and posted Head Wound #5. We hope you notice that we are getting more of a grip on what we're up to: crime, true and otherwise. In this podcast we discuss borderline personality disorders (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borderline_personality_disorder), the use of human hair in gifts to your exs, check-cashing corpses and milkshake-slurping snakes. We used Semi-Detached a Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode as an example of borderline personality disorder. We then chatted about the true crime story in Hell's Kitchen where two guys dragged around their pal's corpse in a wheelchair as they tried to cash his check. Gnarly even for Hell's Kitchen! Jed and I then wandered onto our creepy things section of our show. I was, per usual, a vat of misinformation about my thirsty snakes invading urban areas in such of sustenance. Turns out it wasn't in India, but Australia. Given how much rain we're having where we are, I wouldn't be surprised is I saw a few water moccasins moseying by. I am sure there are other things we rattled on about, but this will do for now.

What the Fuck

With this insomnia thing I can only say "What the fuck." Grisly, most grisly of grislies. It's like being on the Posiedon, the 1972 movie in which a ship turned completely upside down. But unlike the awesome actor Shelley Winters who, with her lungs of steel, swam an amazing distance, I have weak lungs for insomnia. Good God almighty, it wreaks havoc with my creative life. Rare as it is nowadays, my entire life still gets tipped upside down and I am dumped into that ocean of night known so well to us insomniacs. No pleasant warm swim, no nice drifting in friendly waters, insomnia nights are cold, shark-infested seas fraught with frustrations, remorse as well as the compulsion to get a "real" job (you can imagine how dafted I must be to even be considering that last one). Ms. Static (that pesky feline who loves to disrupt my life in the darkened closet) is thrilled at my insomnia as she, being a nocturnal thing, is happy for the company. At least, being up, I don't have to worry about what she is doing while I am sleeping. This later point always bothers me: that I live with a creature who has sharp teeth, long nails and well, questionable motives. Afterall, how do I know that she doesn't consider me meat? Did I mention that paranoia is my legacy and that insomnia is it's cure? I mean, if I'm always up, then I can be alert to whatever I need to be alert to. Not that I know what that is, but hay I'm prone to paranoia that fear of whatever the fuck might be going on without my knowledge.

Last night, the insomnia moved on to God only knows where. I will not curse it as I am, well, paranoid that is will come back and get me. And it always does. What the fuck.

Onward into the fray...

Spiders and flies

"I was brought here by flies," I said in my sleep. This was not a mere assertion from a demented mind. (We'll skip that discussion for now.) It was a demonstrative statement of fact. Periodically, I come up with these announcements—and frequently in the company of my boyfriend. These notions (or pronouncement as my partner likes to call them) come in the space between waking and sleeping. Grisly and spooky, this business of sleeping.

There were a couple of things I mentioned on our podcast

Head Wound

that I said I'd put on our blog. One was the website for my pal Patrick who is the dad of Magenta, the tarantula and also a writer (not Magenta, but Patrick. I don't think Magenta can write. Although if she could, I would be quite interested to hear what she has to say.) Patrick's website is:

www.patrickletellier.com

. Currently, Magenta has no website, although she should. Patrick says he'll forward me a picture of Miss M. When he does, I'll give you the link. I also mentioned a cool zine that I liked. Called

Bug

, it is written by Bryan Kring. (

http://www.kringdesign.com/books

) He's got some really interesting zines on his website—

Peephole

,

Wart

and

Specimen

—that I plan on getting. When I do, I'll let you know what I think. But definitely pick up

Bug

. It's cool, creepy and well done. I bought

Bug

at Pens and Needles, here in SF (

http://www.needles-pens.com/home.html

). Pens and Needles

has DIY goods, great zines and magazines and a great gallery.

Wickie

 

In the dark

per usual. Working to increase my time in here creating. Nasty business this practice of tale telling. Certainly not my agenda as I would be content catching and snacking on the random fly that wanders by. But work I must. We bleak children need to tell our tales. So. First, get out of bed. (Or drag your computer or pens into the bed.) And just do five minutes. None of this carrot on a stick. It is flies, kiddy kiddies that we seek. Oh, I forgot. I don’t eat flies anymore. Or only here and there. For I am a wounded thing and meat tires me. So it is the fake fly on a stick that awaits me. I leave the live ones to...her.
Wickie

Here again.

In the dark. Without that cat as she became bored with me—or the dark. Who knows what lurks in the brains of cats. Scared of that. Sometimes, late at night when I wake, sometimes with a start other times as though drugged, she is there. Yellow eyes staring at me. I find it odd that while I sleep she wanders and stares.

Currently, I am reading

China Miéville

’s

Perdido Station

. Currently has spun out into about a year. Oh, do I hope that he is readying a film populated by his strange creatures and countries. As I write, I am listening to

City of Angels

sung by

Above the Law

. In a definite groove. Don’t know them beyond this song. “The devil plays the repo men, sucking up souls as fast as he can,” they sing. “LA is a crazy ass place to stay,” they assert. Can’t argue with either point. Gotta go try to earn some cash. So I can stay in the dark. And feed her. So she will leave me alone at night.

Wickie