“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: November 11, 2007

Saturday, November 17, 2007


So I'm back from my big trip to the county.

It was every bit as uneventful as it sounds.

Lot of watching TV, got some drawing done, fucked up my back on the crappy bed. Found my old tan trench coat, which I'd abandoned some time ago for my newer, sexier, black one. I figured I'd dig it out for those occasions when I didn't want to look like an aging goth and more like a pervert. Problem is, it'd been kept in one of the closets in the new rooms that had been added to the house and for some reason those rooms aren't well ventilated, so the coat smells like it's been buried in fucking mold for a few months.

I'm trying to fix that now by running it through the washer, despite the 'Professionally Dry Clean ONLY' label. I don't do dry cleaning. Dry cleaning is for the weak. I do man laundry. Man laundry is everything in one load, cold water, dry as necessary. If it doesn't survive then you were a pansy for wearing it in the first fucking place.

Oh, there was one blog-worthy event. I had to go pick Mom up after her trip. Well one of the hundred local churches has this thing where they box up free or discounted food for people who need it and Mom delivers it to a few people so she had me pick her up at the church.

You don't have to have been reading this blog long to know how I feel about churches.

In short, they make me itch.

Anyways, I pull into the church parking lot, resisting the urge to drive Mom's big-ass SUV right through the fucking thing, shut off the engine and I hear music. And it's kinda familiar music. Kinda sounds like The Doors...

Who the fuck would be blasting The Doors inside a church? Well, I would, but I was outside so I was reasonably sure it wasn't me. Time and space being relative things, it's impossible to be 100% sure you know.

Approaching the windows I see a drum set and mic stands and a live band. Someone is playing The Doors live on the church stage? That's sufficiently groovy. But then I listened closer. It was a very Doorsy sound, but the lyrics were your standard churchy, preachy, "We're not worthy" bullshit.

You know when people say they had to bite their tongue to keep quiet?

Yeah, I'd never had to do that before tonight.

I'm lucky (as are all of you)I didn't bite it clear off.

How fucking DARE anyone use The Doors for Christianical purposes?

It's worth explaining something at this point. I am the Prodigal Doors Fan. I became one in the early 90's when Brian went all ape-shit over Oliver Stone's Doors movie. God only knows why, because that movie sucked ass, as does most of Stone's work.

Hey Stone, just because you CAN put 30 jump-cuts in one fucking scene doesn't mean you SHOULD.

But yes, the movie sucked (despite the presence of Val Kilmer) but the music spoke to me. I saw deeper meaning to it. It was spiritual and moving.

And then one day I woke up and realized that he was just a drunk guy with a microphone.

I went on like that for a while. A jaded ex-Doors fan. Or so I believed. Till one day I was sitting in a bar and Roadhouse Blues came on and I said to myself;

"Alright, a drunk guy with a microphone."

And I was once again welcomed into the fold (movie still sucks though). How dare Christianity attempt to taint my love of The Doors?


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Tuesday, November 13, 2007


Fuck. I'm tired and sore and I didn't even get to do anything really great to get that way.

I've been getting out and doing stuff more, so that's good. Walked around the Morgantown Mall for a few hours after my doctor's appointment last Wednesday. Oh yeah, I had an appointment in Morgantown last Wednesday. Basically he said everything is cool and I only need to go back if something goes wrong.

And (say it with me now people) what could POSSIBLY go wrong?

Apparently the medical term for what happened to me me was “Holy shit, hey guys, come look at this!” and it's a chronic condition because I keep hearing it. It started with the x-rays on the day my guts exploded and there seems to be no end in sight.

But yeah, everything is cool. No more media-overexposed killer super-infection, no more open wounds to dress, no more return appointments to schedule.

I'm dangerously close to having to get a life again.


All the walking I mentioned, which is good for me, has had one unfortunate side effect though. All the muscles from the back of my knees to the top of my ass hurt like fucking hell right now, hence my current sunny demeanor.

On top of that, I have to go out to Mom's on Tonight and stay till Friday.

That fucking sucks.

I'd rather keep the sore ass for another month than spend two nights out there. It's not that I hate doing stuff for Mom, it's that I hate the THINGS she asks me to do. She seems to think that I can bend the rules of time and space to accomplish her insane tasks. Granted, I CAN bend the rules of time and space, but only for evil purposes.

Thank God entertaining you people technically counts as evil.

Yes, that's right, I've you're reading this then phase one of my world domination plans has already been a success! Ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaa!

But yeah, the upsides to being out at Moms are that #1: She won't be there, and #2: She has a whirlpool, which would be really great for my sore ass

The downsides are #1: She WILL have a list of things she'll want me to have done before she gets home, and #2: She WILL call at least twice a day to check on my progress.

Now like I said, I don't mind doing stuff for her, but it's the things she asks me to do. We've already covered her obsession for having me fix her riding mower (which I WILL be working on, just not in the way she had planned) but her tasks have also included leveling out the backyard with a shovel. Yes, a shovel. And she came up with this idea AFTER my medical problems. So she wanted me, with a massive hernia, to level out the back yard, with a shovel. “It's just a few inches of dirt.” She said. Well nothing I can do or say can make her understand that “a few inches of dirt” over a space of, say a quarter acre of backyard, equals several tons of dirt.

I'm sure it'll be on her list.

I'll be taking my computer with me so I can work on my art stuff and probably crank out some more blog posts. Frankly, it's bee hard coming up with new ones lately as the list of things going on in my life that I can't write about keeps getting bigger. Most of my family and my relationship are already on the list (not at the request of the other person IN the relationship, mind you) so I've gotta dodge a lot of land mines to get anything about my life suitable for print.

Allright, maybe suitable isn't an applicable word here...

Oh, I have opened an account at Deviant Art where I will (hopefully) be displaying new pieces of art every so often.

That's it for now.

Wish me luck.

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