Looking out the windows of the upstairs office. I watch the wind blowing through the trees as dark clouds march across the sky. Sabella, our youngest cat, sits on a box and watches the movement of the outside world. She’s only marginally interested in what’s going on in here. Her proximity is her simple statement of affection.

A stack of padded envelopes lie at my feet. I have thirteen turntable belt orders to pack and ship. Victoria is having lunch with her daughter somewhere, so the rest of the cats are wandering in, one by one. Baggins and Boo meander about the room, fascinated by my recent cleaning. They’re always intrigued when I move things around.

I’m going to get these orders packed so I can work on music. My band is going to play through as much of our show as we can tomorrow night, and I haven’t had nearly as much time to work on the songs as I need. My back is burning somewhat, as it usually does. The voices in my head ponder if it might be cancer; if my number may have come up at last. It would certainly explain the constant low-level pain. But I know that’s silly. Just because a cousin died of cancer last week doesn’t mean every ache and pain is the approach of the end. But in my family there seems to be only two ways out. Advanced old age or cancer.

I want to write some today, as well. The band is great and I look forward  to playing and making some money, but it feels like mis-spent energy. We’re playing great songs, but they’re still other people’s songs. It still feel like I’m not doing what I was put here to do. If I’m remembered when I’m gone, it won’t be for how well I played a few old ZZ Top songs.

Well, there’s work to be done. I have a whole other set of orders waiting for me in the queue. The cats have settled in for their naps while I work. The fan is blowing soft breezes upon my skin. My back hurts. My neck hurts. The wind blows through the trees. I’d best get on with it before I waste another day to time’s insatiable appetite.

Thanks to the good graces of Brother J. C. Rice, I got to go to the Clearwater Sea Blues Festival this year at Coachman Park, in Clearwater, Florida. I suspect J. C. had ulterior motives, in that he might’ve hoped that by inviting me and Wolf, our drummer, that we would steer the band in more of a Blues direction. If that was ever part of the plan, it was a brilliant strategy.

We had excellent seats. Third row, at just to the right of center. So we got the full effect of the performances. If anything annoyed me, it was the habit of many of the people in front of us, in the first and second rows, to look over their shoulders at the huge video screen that was put up for the benefit of the folks on the lawn behind us. I kept thinking that the performers are ten feet away from you, and you’re looking at the video screen?

(more…)

The band is coming over tomorrow to record the vocal tracks to the songs we recorded last week. I’m looking forward to getting the songs ready and up online, and then using those to help get the band some gigs. We’re all hoping we can make a living doing this, and we’re certainly good enough. Maybe once some of the tracks are up you’ll know it, too.

I’m tired and am writing for no particular reason. I’ve been dreaming a lot lately of old things, which is as good a reason as any to write a blog.

A few nights ago I was driving around Kings Mountain (in a dream) in my old Thunderbird, thinking about the day I was going to get the car put back together properly and legally documented so I wouldn’t have to dodge the cops. It’s a little strange, in the glaring light of day, to realize that my Thunderbird is long gone. I left it behind in Kings Mountain on the assumption that I’d be able to go back up and get it some day. But the guy who was letting me store it on his shop property sold the land, and my car has long since been hauled off. That’s a bitter blow, to lose something that I held onto for so long. It’s strange that I still dream about it. I imagine I always will.

I dreamed about my old cat, Hannibal, last night. Someone was offering me a present, and when it was unveiled, it was Hannibal. I just smiled and scritched an old friend. It was good to feel his presence again, even if it was only in a dream.

I keep waiting for Spartacus to visit me in a dream, but so far he hasn’t. I wish he would. For the same reason I was glad to see Hannibal. It might have been a dream, but I woke up smiling. I wouldn’t mind getting to nuzzle my little squirrel again. The squirrels in the back yard come running from all corners when they see me out there (apparently peanuts are like crack to squirrels), but it’s just not the same as having Spartacus play in my hair and stick his nose in my ear. I wouldn’t mind a few minutes with him in the dream-time.

There’s a lot of other things going on in my head, but I’m tired and don’t feel like rambling on about them. I’m excited about getting the recordings finished and getting the band working. But I’m also looking forward to being done with the recordings. I’m aching to get back to working on the novel, and I’m beginning to resent the distraction a bit. But I know the songs will be finished this weekend. Next week the band will be giving our show a full run-through. After that the band shouldn’t take as much effort as it has of late. That’s where the fun begins (and hopefully where the money starts coming in). Well, assuming our guitarist doesn’t blow a gasket. He seems to be powered by unstable, experimental fuels sometimes.

I don’t normally re-post information here, but since my Blog seems to have fallen by the wayside of late (my interests seem to lead me into posting in my other Blogs), this seemed like the perfect place to mention something that disturbs me on an almost primal level. It’s  the Chinese’s appetite for tiger parts. Despite a government ban on the trade since 1993, there’s a healthy market for tiger bones, which are traditionally prized for their healing and aphrodisiac qualities, and tiger skins, which have become trophies among China’s nouveau riche.

With as few as 20 in the wild in China, the country’s tigers are a few gun blasts away from extinction, and in India poachers are making quick work of the tiger population, the world’s largest. The number there, around 1,400, is about half that of a decade ago and a fraction of the 100,000 that roamed the subcontinent in the early 20th century. It’s inconceivable to me that, in a modern age and with China emerging as a global power, a species is on the verge of extinction because there are people who believe they have magical healing powers.

I greatly recommend that anyone who cares about this issue read an article by Andrew Jacobs that’s been posted on the NY Times web site. If it doesn’t chill you to the bone, you’re not a human being.

I was finally talked into watching Twilight last night. I’ve been reluctant, because I’ve seen enough of it to know that it’s all dreck, but I do believe in giving everything its fair shake. It wasn’t right for me to hate this “phenomenon” without actually watching the movie. And besides, I’m writing a book based upon vampires myself. It’d be hypocritical of me to dismiss Twilight without a proper examination.

Okay. I watched it. Or, more specifically, as I wrote on Facebook;

I can say with some authority that “Twilight” sucks the big one. I understand why people like it, because it’s basically a re-telling of the old Prince and the Princess story, but it’s a romance novel with the most benign vampires I have ever seen, with all the dark and scary bits removed. The dialog was horrible. The premise was absurd. And the plot was non-existent. Just further proof that you can polish a turd and, with the right marketing, make millions from people who are hungry for mainstream banality. Bleh. :-)

I stand by that assessment. *yawn*

By the way, if you’re interested in a vampire who’s a little more complex, you’re always welcomed to introduce yourself to Visili Kruvoi.

I just read an article about a bit of political grand-standing that has raised my ire a bit.  President Obama’s transportation secretary on Tuesday banned truckers and commercial bus drivers from sending and receiving text messages. My first thought was “you think the truckers are the fucking problem?” Holy crap. Get a grip, dude.

But, of course, this has nothing to do with reality. This feeds into the general ill-will that the public feels toward truck drivers. We all know that truckers are rolling death on the highway. Yeah, it couldn’t possibly be little Cindy Lou in her VW Beetle, bopping down through morning traffic at 80 miles an hour, while singing her favorite song and putting on make-up, that causes all those accidents. It couldn’t possibly be Chad, the yuppie commuter, who’s zipping into work with an open briefcase in the passenger seat and paperwork scattered all over his steering wheel and laying in his lap. It couldn’t possibly be Betty the soccer mom who’s careening down the road with an open book lying on her steering wheel, could it?

There’s a saying among truck drivers that pretty much sums this up. If you’re driving a truck that gets into an accident, about the only time they won’t find you at fault is if someone rear-ends you at a high rate of speed. And even then it won’t be for lack of trying. Truckers are generally regarded as uneducated rednecks until they hit somebody, and then they’re suddenly upgraded to highly trained professionals. So naturally, if there’s a problem on the nation’s highways, it has to be those damned truck drivers, doesn’t it?

Well, as someone who spent eight years out there on the road, I’d generally like to tell the rest of you to kiss my entire ass. Here’s an interesting fact for you. In a report released by AAA a few years back (which, oddly enough, I can’t seem to find now), it was found that in over 78% of accidents involving big trucks and automobiles which resulted in fatalities, it was the fault of the driver of the car, not the truck driver. AAA quietly released that report, and did nothing in the way of advertising it. After all, it reflected badly on their clientèle, the drivers of automobiles, not on truck drivers.

Truck drivers are used to this kind of bullshit. Rather than do something that would take some balls, and ban all cellphone use and texting in all vehicles, the transportation secretary has pulled a sleight-of-hand. By targeting only truck drivers, who the uninformed believe are the problem anyway, the government gets to score some easy political points while essentially doing nothing to address the real problem. Believe me, if you could teach Cindy Lou, Chad and Betty that they’re at least partially responsible for their own fates, not to mention the safety of the people around them, we’d all be much safer on the highways.

I’m not saying there aren’t asshole truck drivers out there. You’ve all had encounters with some asshole trucker who’s ridden your ass on the highway or did something else unsafe. What I contend is that in your prejudiced world view of truck drivers, you didn’t once notice the thousands of safe, courteous truck drivers that you pass every day out there on the highways without as much as a thought (except you have to get around them). When you think of truck drivers you think of that one asshole wouldn’t let you out onto the highway when you came careening down that on-ramp, not the dozens of others during your week that got over for you. I’m sorry, but from the perspective of someone who drove one of those big trucks for eight years, I have little sympathy for you. I learned from hard experience that while truck drivers make an easy target, automobile drivers are their own worst enemy. Truck drivers save thousand of lives every day by avoiding accidents that car drivers are never even aware of. I’d like you to think of that the next time you’re screaming down the highway drafting a truck while you search in your glove box for your cellphone charger. And while you’re at it, once that annoyed truck driver slows down and forces you to pass him so you don’t get the both of you in trouble, why don’t you pass him and flip him off to show your appreciation? I’m sure he already expects it.

There’s been a shift in the dynamic of the new band, and I think it’ll be a positive thing. It makes me feel a lot better about the band, and my participation in it. I know that for sure. Long story short, we asked one of the guys to leave the band. I triggered it, though I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t imagine playing in a band with this guy. He was belligerent from Day One, dismissive of everyone else’s opinions, and generally rude and abusive. It weighed heavily on me all day on Sunday. I kept thinking about all the times I’ve been miserable in bands and how it’s always been because of one asshole or another. This guy was definitely one of the most highly concentrated stockpiles of refined assholishness I’ve ever come across. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.

Anyway, it weighed on my mind Sunday to a point where I was having a panic attack. I couldn’t imagine playing in a band with another asshole. Life is too short and I just don’t need the aggravation. I wasn’t about to suggest that we get rid of the guy, though, so I decided to opt out. I wrote the other two guys in the band and told them that i had been a pleasure, but I just couldn’t see myself playing in a band with that asshole. Much to my surprise, the guys called me and decided to get rid of the asshole instead. They had the same reservations and discomfort about him that I did. So we were all sort of thinking the same thing.

Well, the asshole is gone and I’m still in the band. With this one guy gone, I now find myself very excited about the band again. I really like Doug, the drummer, and J.C., the guitar player. We all seem to have a lot in common, and we’re all on the same page as to what we want out of the band.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a band with friends, and I really feel like I can be friends, and not just band-mates, with Doug and J.C. That camaraderie is something I’ve missed, and it’s something I already feel in this band. I mean, they might turn on me and rip me to proverbial shreds at some point, but I doubt it. We all have too much potential together. Now that the asshole is gone, I look forward to seeing where this might go. And I genuinely feel that it could really be something good.

I’m running my computer in Safe Mode this morning. It’s the only way I can get it to work. My graphics card is dying. Seems like just another thing. We’ve taken so many hits of late that when something else happens I just shrug and keep on going. I guess that’s what life is all about. No matter what happens, you just have to keep on going. What’s the alternative, really?

However it sounds, I’m not at all down in the dumps or anything. I’m just annoyed. I was hoping to work on a new song this week, but that has been set aside. In Safe Mode I can’t run the drivers for my audio interface, so Cubase doesn’t work. It’s also put a damper on writing, since there are columns of yellow and blue dots all over the screen. I don’t even want to imagine what staring at that for long would do to my eyes.

Anyway, there’s not much else to do but regroup and redeploy. Luckily we’ll soon be able to afford a replacement graphics card, but it’s an expense I would rather have avoided. You do what you have to do, I guess. I’ve broken my moratorium on placing t-shirt ads directly on the Malleus Maleficarum web site and put a few up.  Hopefully that’ll translate to some traffic in my eBay store (and some money in our pockets). Honestly, with an average of about 1,000 visits per day, it’s foolish of me not to advertise my eBay store more aggressively on the Malleus web site. Especially when we’re in the deep end of the pool and facing the proverbial sink or swim. Besides, who wears more t-shirts than college kids (the main traffic there)?

Over, under or through, I say. I’ve learned through the years that for good things to happen, bad things have to be endured. And I imagine that, if the difficulties we’ve stumbled across are any indication, the novel I’m writing is going to pay off in a big way. Or at least it should, if the dues we’re paying is any clue.

Another Monday. I’m going to try to nail down the seventh chapter of the book today. It’s the last major stumbling block to getting up a good head of steam. I made some changes in later chapters that necessarily forced some re-writes of chapter seven. I’m struggling with those a bit, because I like the flow of chapter seven, and don’t quite know how to begin to pull it together.

The first thing I wanted to do today, though, was get a few things out of the way. Ground and clear, and all that. Sometimes certain issues can sit in front of your creative energy like a rabid moose standing in the middle of the road.

Foremost, I’ve been chewing on the fact that my house in Kings Mountain, NC has finally been put up for sale. I’d say that this settles certain questions once and for all. This is a painful reminder of some terrible things and a terrible time, but I’m glad that it’s finally being moved upon. Resolution has been a long time coming. Having the house sit there empty for so many years has been like an open wound. I’ve tried to move on, but events and people keep coming along to rub in some salt. I kept telling myself that the best revenge is to live well from here on out, but there’s still this dark, simmering anger in my heart that makes me want to call for a special place in Hell for some people. I won’t, though. I’m not the first person in the world to get thrown under a bus because of another person’s selfishness. I’m sure I won’t be the last.

There’ll be no satisfying resolution here. All I can do is stare at the wreckage and reflect that I’m in a much better place now than I was then. However much it hurts that I lost that house, I take some small consolation in knowing that I did what I could. If there are karmic debts to be paid, they won’t be tendered to me. That’s small consolation, but it helps that I know a dark chapter in my life is finally being closed. After this, there’s only one last cord that I need to sever to be free of my former life, and that’s something I’m going to attend to soon.

Over, under or through. B’god!

I posted a new song today. It’s called If You Listen (and you can listen to it here). I’ve worked on it for a couple of weeks now, and found myself feeling a deep sense of pride and accomplishment as I neared the finish line last night. I’m still very proud of what I’ve done. The song is the opening salvo on an album of music that’s going to be based upon the novel I’m writing, Blood & Chartreuse. So far Victoria likes it, and my mother bragged on it a bit.

But for the most part everyone else has been mum on the subject.

I don’t know what I expected, really. Victoria lets me claim her friends as my own, but those people could care less about me. I’m Victoria’s boyfriend, and that’s all I’ll ever be in those circles. That’s fine. I understand that, and don’t have a problem with it. But it’s hard not to be disappointed when you work on something for weeks and no one, apparently, bothers to check it out.

I suppose more than anything I’ve been disappointed by those people who I have thought of as my friends through the years. Not the surface relationships from MySpace and Facebook, but the real world friends whom I have history with. It’s bothered me a bit that none of them has responded. It’s not that I expected lavish praise or anything, but when you’ve worked as hard as I have on something like this and you put it up online so people can finally hear it, it’s numbing to get… nothing. No reaction whatsoever.

I could examine this. I know the song isn’t a catchy diddy. It’s not something that you’re going to be walking around singing. And the lyrics are rather brutal. There’s also a lot of intentional noise and conflict in the song. It’s not something you’d listen to on the way to church. So maybe no one knows quite what to make of it. Maybe they’re being quiet because they don’t know what to say about it. I’d rather believe that than consider the possibility that I’ve fallen so far into the abyss that no one besides Victoria and my mother give a damn about anything that I do.

However it sounds, I’m not down or depressed. I’m just a little… disappointed. Even if someone didn’t like If You Listen, it would be nice of them to say so. Somehow the silence strikes me as if I’ve done some unspeakable thing, and it makes me feel vaguely ashamed.