Here are the covers for the two minicomics I’ll be debuting.
They look like someone’s trying to steal their pizza.
Ephemera from Saturday night, while Eric was sitting in on Zero Content with Fly and Craig. Weasel Walter is on tour with Lydia Lunch. I’m in the scrambling to get things ready for the Zine Fest stage, so this may be my most recent drawing without an agenda or pressure behind it.
I could be doing “BFMH2015″ right now I suppose. There are things that hit my consciousness that need full articles devoted to them that I don’t feel confident enough to fully approach. On the website The Root is an an article regarding Sandra Bland’s Facebook videos about PTSD and depression. To me this incriminates the police even further in her murder(yes I believe she was murdered), having talked in the past about police brutality towards the mentally ill in public and Riker’s Island.
Others didn’t feel that way. There were a lot of comments suggesting that by sharing this information, information Sandra herself shared, The Root was “excusing” the cops’ behavior. Concern that discussing this would lead people to just assume it was suicide. I can see where that is possible. But her experiences were hers. And whether she had PTSD or was mentally fit-as-a-fiddle, the cop in the video used excessive force, and I’m suspicious about what else may have happened.
Then a friend of a friend committed suicide last night, and the grief was exacerbated by a sensationalist front page story about the patrons of the expensive rooftop bar where she did it continuing to order overpriced bottles of champagne and party as if nothing had happened. I’m torn between wanting the callousness of soul-lacking yuppies laid bare at every turn, and feeling like blaring these additional details adds to the pain for those who knew this person. “Show some tact!!!” screams my brain and then “Parade everyone on that rooftop naked through the streets of New York, with signs saying what they did/didn’t do! Let the crowd throw their most rotten maggot filled compost at them in this heat wave!!!” at the same time.
I have no answers.
There was an episode Monday night, in heat and frustration and tracks upon tracks of confused shut down trains. Throat full of molten lead and I can barely speak. Encased in an x-ray bib. I swoon and a subway sign re-arranges itself. When the dizziness passes it reads:
AVE NVIT EXCELSIUS LA MENTE
I spent most of the evening doing this for therapeutic reasons mostly.
The dialogue comes from the Henry Darger documentary “In The Realms Of The Unreal”, which I strongly recommend.
The are also some guest vocals from the baby rats when they were first born.
I’ve also decided the reason trigger warnings are meaningless to me is because I don’t get triggered. I get detonated.
There’s always a reminder that no matter what you yourself think, in the eyes of the Common Good your pain, the pain of countless others like you, who have been thrust through the same hell, are irrelevant. Or clearly not as relevant as the well being of a Very Important Rapist. There’s no time to think about the pain such things cause victims in the above ground polluted-haze filter through which all Common Good sunshine is viewed. A haze where all they can see is that we mustn’t be overly hard on the offenders and predators. Because something something forgiveness redemption Jesus something.
And even when people aren’t inherently malevolent they still find this acceptable. But maybe rage and destruction aren’t really a problem here. Maybe they just mean “this is bullshit and I won’t retreat to suffer silently like the rest of the world would prefer”
Being silenced doesn’t eradicate the truth.
It also doesn’t make anything better. Which is why I don’t bother.
So then I think, why not take half-finished things, things that lost their momentum, and be my own cut-up, and they’re a new life-form? The plague doctor a colored pencil drawing from when I was doing art therapy. The nurse a marker drawing in a diner, boldly slapped over some cartoon doodles that just weren’t right.
Insomniac hypnogogia sex permeates through to the next conscious state, and the next, and the next…
The title of this is “Who Leaves First Shall Die”. I wish the internet could tell me the name of the artist instead of just endless pontifications on gender roles. I see mutual trust, like the “edge” is not so much in the blades as it is in letting yourself go into that kind of connection.
Live EP. Now available on Bandcamp.
It’s just under 30 minutes of a razor sharp pendulum, swinging between dark ambient and martial industrial and those oh-so-cthonic wails. Gotta stay worthy of exorcistsSEE WHAT YOUR SOCIETY HAS DONE TO ME
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID YOUR CUNTING DAUGHTER”
Why does the demon think that’s a verb?
Jumping the gun to search for stuff about last night’s gig:
I stumbled on this tidbit from earlier in the year, when we opened for Cult Of Youth. It’s from The L Magazine and me and Eric are wondering HOW we could have missed this gem. Well, ok, probably because we don’t look at L Magazine a whole helluva a lot. But anyway, from the write up under the title “Sick Sounds” (I’m already flattered):
” Joining them at Nothing Changes–Home Sweet Home’s weekly foray into industrial, punk, goth, and generally spooky vibes– is Astral Knife, a New York City-based experimental noise outfit that trades in deathly soundscapes and distant wails worthy of an exorcism.”
Exorcisms don’t seem to take for me though. I’ve had a couple, from self-styled Christian exorcists to this or that New Age/psychic healer type my Mom was looking into for a bit. Haven’t had a Catholic exorcism because those actually have to go through a lot of approval, from what I’ve read. I don’t want a Catholic exorcism anyway. Come to think of it, I didn’t want any exorcisms.
Last night was wonderful though. Lot of people I knew there despite the rain, friends wishing me happy birthday and all. The guys from Rectal Hygienics, who had come from Chicago, were all really great and put on a great show. And despite some folks jokingly wondering if drummer Omar Gonzalez and I are related…we aren’t. It’d be cool if we were, but all my relations on that side of the family are in Florida and Union City.
It’s exhilarating to come home from a performance a black goo and bloody mess, still with a wonderful husband/bandmate/soulmate saying you look beautiful and these are the things to keep for memory.
Tomorrow night at Trans-Pecos, Uniform is having a release party with performances by Astral Knife, Ligature, Unholy Two, Rectal Hygienics, and of course, Uniform.
Uniform is one of my favorite local “in the moment immersion” bands to see live. And since I still feel out of my gourd…I skipped the pill today and almost crashed, I don’t even know if that’s part of it. If I still feel like this by tomorrow night, all I can say is try to channel it up on stage. Like I’ve always done.
In other news, delighted at marriage equality. Delighted at my friends delight, plans for weddings already underway, all the rest. I’ve mercifully not been exposed to any homophobes whining about it today, though I’ve rolled my eyes at a few Leftier-Than-Thou types on the other end of the spectrum deriding the whole concept of marriage as “oppressive”. Or pointing out that this doesn’t fix all inequalities. No shit. But to avoid burnout, it can also help to celebrate the victories as they come.
Rats & Cats For Marriage Equality salute you!
^ Adorable diorama, now we have something to feel warm and fuzzy over.
My latest meds, designed among other things to quell anxiety, have been increasing it. Sometimes over nothing, sometimes over orange and purple bolts of electric current attacking me. Eric’s noticed my increased insomnia, convulsions and uncontrollable laughter at 4 AM when I do try to lie down. Nausea. Agitation. I’m even quicker than usual to argue, though we didn’t realize this right away because recent current events have increased the plethora of fucking idiots to argue with. Today was the guy (again a friend of a mutual friend) who insists that having a slave based economy is a choice that are people’s “innate right” and “nobody else’s business” (I love how the rights of the people being enslaved aren’t even taken into consideration)…but two guy’s getting married is a “tyranny” being “forced upon” people. So I guess somehow that’s everybody’s business, or maybe with this “forced upon” crap he was confusing same-sex marriage with arranged marriage?
Meh. It’s the world, you know? You can “remove toxic people from your life” all you want, but it’s no guarantee your friends are doing the same. :)So when stupid abounds, you may not notice increased agitation from a pill. But after three nights of writhing, convulsions and maniacal laughter in bed that’s not the usual foreplay, nameless dread and weird purple rash on one thigh and ass cheek (again not the usual foreplay) we began to wonder if this new medication, Oxcarbazepine (generic for Trileptal), was the culprit. Eric raised the concern first, as he’s quicker to notice these things than I am to become self-aware of them.I’m calling the doctor tomorrow morning.