Dear Friends,
As I reflect on the week that is quickly passing, way more quickly than I can comprehend, I’m a bundle of raw, yet dull nerves. The way this week began was one of the most horribly painful things I can remember. I’m exhausted, too, from all of it.
There was good this week. Healing began and I bonded in a way with my students that I think was great for all of us. I filled them in on what had happened on Wednesday when I thought I could share without bursting into tears. They were pretty ambivalent about it, but I think they probably knew that someone had died in my family after I told them on Monday that it had been a very bad weekend for us.
I think, maybe, they saw me as a bit more human this week. Many of them ratcheted up their level of empathy for me and, in turn, I was able to see them differently, too. They got me through this week in ways that they cannot understand yet and I’m very grateful to them for the assistance.
My mom kept sending me videos and pictures of Mia doing funny and cute things. That helped a lot. I sent her funny political memes, and it felt nice. I talked to the kids and to Rhondi and to my dad. I talked to Bobby. Many of my friends reached out to me and the walks with Tom and Quentin earlier in the week got me through those first tough days, as well.
Hillbilly practice on Wednesday saved me a bit, and visiting Granny on Thursday was a nice piece of relief. She held my hand for a while and made me feel better in a way that only she can. I am very thankful to still have her in my life.
Between work and friends and worrying about Rhondi, I got through the week with only a few meltdowns. The realizations that death bring are harsh and unforgiving, but also so necessary. Facing them has been tough, but I feel very thankful that I am in my ninth month of sobriety now. I would be a mess if I was still drinking.
I can’t say that I haven’t felt the temptations.
One of the toughest things about this year was wanting to drink beer and scotch with Doug. I enjoyed drinking with him very much and I know he was, on some levels, disappointed in my decision to stop drinking. We only talked about it a little bit and I don’t know that he understood or, maybe, wanted to understand.
I have wondered if admitting that I have a problem with drinking made him uncomfortable in some way. Maybe he didn’t think I had a problem. I’ll never know, but I will also never be tempted to have a drink with him again because I can’t.
Over the years, I drank a lot with Doug. He taught me about scotch. We bonded over it and I’m thankful for the time we spent sitting and having deep conversations over a dram (or three or four, sometimes). We got sloppy together and professed our love and admiration for each other. I’ll never forget those times.
We had a ton of laughs, too. Oh, man. Lots and lots of laughing and sometimes it was at my expense for some dumb or clumsy thing I did while drunk off my ass, but it was never hurtful. I was there to help him on several occasions, too, when the drink got the better of us. It’s what we did.
This year, though, I was not in that mindset. I’m sad that I didn’t have one last shot with him, but I’m also thankful that I am where I am today. If there is a world after this, he knows how I felt about him and that I loved him. That’s what really matters.
*****
Breakfast with Dot today and then a show later. It’s going to be one of those days, I’m sure. The show is one that will be a nice release, too, because I will see a good number of friends and they will be there to help hold me up. It will be great to have breakfast with Dot, too.
In the between time, I think I better cut some tile. It’s not going to cut itself and I need to finish this damn bathroom and crank out the other one, too. I’ve been taking a lot of comfort in the time I spend at the condo, but it’s going to be time to get our house in order.
I keep leaving the door open for myself to escape out of when it comes to the bathroom. I need to remind myself that finishing it up (or at least the tile part), will feel really good.
Feeling good isn’t a bad thing.
*****
According to Wix, this is the 1000th post I have published. A few of them were add-ons and at least one or two were also things I posted to say I had messed up and would be posting later in the day, so I’m not counting this as the real 1000.
It is probably safe to say that I’ve posted over 1,000,000 words here, though. That’s a lot of words…somewhere between 8 -12 good sized books worth. Hard to fathom on many levels, but the process has helped me so much over the past few years. I hope it has helped others, too.
*****
For shits and giggles, I’m going to take this one to over one thousand words today. That first year, I made sure that every blog was at least 1000 words. Some days it was really tough to get there, but I did it. The last two years, I haven’t fretted over the word count or had a real goal each day.
Doing the records this year has kept me at close to or over 1000 most days. Some of them are over 1000 words by themselves. A lot are also in the 500-700 word range. Part of me wants to edit them all to exactly 666 words and put out a book with a title related to the Devil being hidden in the music or something.
I am a dork.
*****
One of the things that listening to Rembrandt Pussyhorse by the Butthole Surfers has made me realize is that my love for LSD in the late 1980s was definitely one of the reasons I gravitated so sharply to the band’s music. This is such a weird and powerfully introspective record. It’s perfect for hallucinating by yourself in a studio apartment.
I did a lot of exploration of my own brain in 1989 and 1990. In the spring of 1989, I had stumbled into this situation where I was able to broker a deal that brought me into a lot of LSD for a very small amount of money. During this time, I was listening to a lot of Butthole Surfers and when I would get home from an evening out on the town tripping balls, Rembrandt Pussyhorse was a popular choice to send me into a new dimension as I sat by myself and wound things down.
There were a few evenings where the record had the opposite effect, too.
One in particular nearly ended with me embarrassing the hell out of myself. Let’s just say that climbing out of your window stark naked at 3AM is not a good idea. Luckily, I didn’t end up in jail.
Rembrandt Pussyhorse was definitely a catalyst on many occasions. “Creep In The Cellar” still makes me feel a little jumpy. The backwards ass violin that they got from using an old reel of tape that hadn’t been completely erased is beautiful and creepy and rad. It also sets a wonderful tone for the rest of the record.
“He starts talking backwards when he peels off his skin.”
“Sea Ferring” has this ridiculously heavy bass thing going on. I’m not sure if they were fucking around with the sound of one of the many floor toms being hit to get the tone or if it just the way Paul Leary was playing the bass, but it is so rad. Gibby Haynes also kind of sings on this one, too, which was always nice.
“Like a ball park, like a blood clot…”
I would have loved to have been there the first time someone from the Guess Who heard the Surfers’ cover of “American Woman.” The drums on this one are so great. King Coffey and Teresa Taylor are/were masters of the double drummer thing. They make this track rock. There are some drum loops happening here, too, sure, but they made the loops themselves.
Leary’s guitar parts, too. Hot damn.
“Waiting for Jimmy To Kick” has that manic piano bit made it a perfect LSD song. They were also fucking around with moving the vocals to different channels, too, so psychedelic ears really enjoyed it.
“Strangers Die Everyday” always fucked with me. Not always in a good way, but I was a big boy, and I could handle it. I love that Butthole Surfers were doing this type of thing in 1986. I wasn’t hip to them yet, but I would be soon enough after this came out.
“Perry” is one of those songs that I just love, too. It kind of reminds me of stuff off their Psychic, Powerless… record. I love the effects that Haynes used on his vocals on this one. I tried for a long time to get this sound in the early Hillbilly days. Haynes reminds me of a demented clown on this one.
“Well, I’ve got news for you, Perry.”
“Whirling Hall of Knives” is a great song title. There was always this urge for me to put this one on mixed tapes I was making because of the great name, but it is a very hard one to fit onto a mixed tape because it kind of has a mood all its own. I wonder, now, if this is a weird kind of fuck you to The Smiths and their song “Meat is Murder.” I wonder if they could be mixed together in a DJ set.
The growling you hear on “Mark Says Alright” is from Mark Farner of Grand Funk Railroad, which was the name of Paul Leary’s dog. This is another that is just perfect for tripping on acid. I don’t know if I would ever do that again, but if I did…I would take this trip.
The last track is “In The Cellar” and it is like the bad dream version of “Creep In The Cellar.” They must have liked the bookend of it all. This one is ever trippier than the first one. Don’t try this at home, kids.
You might have fun.
You might lose your shit.
You might do both (and maybe lose your clothes).
*****
See you tomorrow.
Mark Farner of Grand Funk Railroad AI.
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