It’s a stupid dare. I know it’s stupid, prolly idiotic, but what the fuck… No body is ever gonna fuck with me ever again. It’ll be fucking hardcore. Everybody will know who I am. But it’s the truth too. I am fucking hardcore. Brad that fucking bitch, I don’t know why I let him get me going. Anyway I’m in it now and I’ll fucking commit. Because as cool as he thinks he is, with all his family’s money and cool kid cred, I know inside that I’m way fucking more hardcore than he is. I’m fucking unhinged man. I should be in Vietnam or some shit.
Brad, he’s older and he went to a private school closer to Boston so he somehow automatically get’s all this outsider cred. But my father lives in town, so for being 2 years younger I was already practically surpassing him with my taste in music and knowledge of cool bands. I’ve probably seen more shows too. He definitely has it up on me on the classic rock, rich people music but who cares about that shit anyway. He’s also really good looking, like he stepped out of a J. Crew catalog – with like duck boots and wispy private school blond hair. Fucking fag. His father is some kind of hippie cool guy who grows weed in Western Massachusetts.
Anyway he wound me up good this time. We were down the road at the Prospect Street cemetery, just hanging out smoking a joint and doing tricks on his moped. Not being totally disrespectful like kicking over gravestones or anything. Just using the mounds to pop little wheelies and shit. There was a bunch of us down there, like 6 or 7 of us, including Rachael, Jeremy and Bean. Luckily I was able to get like 4 drags on the joint so I was pretty stoned. We were over in the corner of the cemetery furthest from the road near the woods. There are a bunch of pretty fancy gravestone houses, you know like crypts down there.
The crypts don’t seem like they are used anymore. I mean I’m not sure, but a couple of em’ have grass and earth on top of them that has collected over the years. You know, like pretty grown in. The town was founded in like 1680 something but I don’t think these crypts are that old. There’s an older cemetery on the other side of town. I bet these must be like 50 or 100 years old. They still use part of the cemetery over on the opposite side and closer to the road, but I don’t think any of em or definitely not the one that we ended up opening anyway.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
What the Hell is Carbona Anyway?
The Satan stuff... A little setup.
I think I mentioned Dickon & Julian in the last post. They are lucky fucks. They live in this CRAZY house up in the hills. It's kind of messed up. Their parents are still together but their father is never around. Their mom is pretty much a bitch all the way around but she's not there too much either. But that doesn't matter much either, because the house is so fucking big, no one can hear each other even when they are all home. Dickon's room is in the main house but it's still a "suite" with 2 entrances and a bathroom to himself. Julian has a floor to himself. I'm jealous. He locks the door and there is no way to get to him. His parents have to call his cell if they want to talk to him. The only danger zone is in the kitchen where you might run into an adult (they also seem to have numerous and varied house guests).
Anyway, this house, it's fucking huge. Dickon is always finding weird shit in the basement or the attic. One of the great things about Boston and all the schools and hospitals is that you get all of this academic crap all over town. Clearly this old house on a hill was owned by a surgeon or a professor or someone like that because down in the cavernous basement there is a cornucopia (see I used it in a sentence) of weird crap. Everything from an authentic African blow gun to a suit of (what looks like) an authentic suit of armor, surgical tools, crazy African or Caribbean masks and a selection of seriously old glass jars that haven't been moved in years, some with the skull and bones symbol on the peeling and yellowed labels.
One of those jars it turned out was filled with ether. I Know I haven't mentioned it here yet but as you might guess from the blog title I've been known to get involved with inhalants. My buddy Miles up in Ipswitch got me into it when I was like 12 or something. Anyway, since then I've pretty much had my face stuck into a bucket or a bag of something toxic; film cleaner, gasoline, rubber cement, modelling glue - you name it. If I knew where I could find "Carbona" I'm sure I'd use that too (you know like from that Ramones song?). If you haven't figured it out by now, that fucking bottle of ether was a major find. I've read about it in scary novels and historical books - it's what the doctors used before they had proper anesthetic. So pretty much as soon as we got the bottle upstairs I was pretty deep into it. It's good stuff, ether, much cleaner finish than something like glue. A few deep breaths through a rag will do it, puts you out in a really pleasant way. No wonder I think people used to get addicted to it - like Dr.'s in the 1800's and stuff. I'm not sure, but I can see why.
Ok, cut to the chase - under these less than ideal conditions is when we found the hymn book. On brown parchment, this crazy illustrated book had some of the wildest shit I've ever seen or read about - bar none. I'd read a lot of the so caled subversives, from Psychich TV in the 80's and some of the Manson "family" literature, but this shit is by far the most out there. It laid out some of the beliefs of these people that called themselves the Church of the Final Judgement, and these beliefs were pretty fucked up. In a nutshell these people who were a splinter group off of Scientology worshipped God and the Devil in equal measure. That humans have an inherent capacity for both good and evil and that one must balance these forces equally, in order to... I don't know what. Anyway I'll try and get some pics so I can post them here and also explain some more about it. There was one particular hymn that was really freaky and Dickon read it aloud. This is the first mention of the Satanic process that he and I ended up adopting for the month of October.
I think I mentioned Dickon & Julian in the last post. They are lucky fucks. They live in this CRAZY house up in the hills. It's kind of messed up. Their parents are still together but their father is never around. Their mom is pretty much a bitch all the way around but she's not there too much either. But that doesn't matter much either, because the house is so fucking big, no one can hear each other even when they are all home. Dickon's room is in the main house but it's still a "suite" with 2 entrances and a bathroom to himself. Julian has a floor to himself. I'm jealous. He locks the door and there is no way to get to him. His parents have to call his cell if they want to talk to him. The only danger zone is in the kitchen where you might run into an adult (they also seem to have numerous and varied house guests).
Anyway, this house, it's fucking huge. Dickon is always finding weird shit in the basement or the attic. One of the great things about Boston and all the schools and hospitals is that you get all of this academic crap all over town. Clearly this old house on a hill was owned by a surgeon or a professor or someone like that because down in the cavernous basement there is a cornucopia (see I used it in a sentence) of weird crap. Everything from an authentic African blow gun to a suit of (what looks like) an authentic suit of armor, surgical tools, crazy African or Caribbean masks and a selection of seriously old glass jars that haven't been moved in years, some with the skull and bones symbol on the peeling and yellowed labels.
One of those jars it turned out was filled with ether. I Know I haven't mentioned it here yet but as you might guess from the blog title I've been known to get involved with inhalants. My buddy Miles up in Ipswitch got me into it when I was like 12 or something. Anyway, since then I've pretty much had my face stuck into a bucket or a bag of something toxic; film cleaner, gasoline, rubber cement, modelling glue - you name it. If I knew where I could find "Carbona" I'm sure I'd use that too (you know like from that Ramones song?). If you haven't figured it out by now, that fucking bottle of ether was a major find. I've read about it in scary novels and historical books - it's what the doctors used before they had proper anesthetic. So pretty much as soon as we got the bottle upstairs I was pretty deep into it. It's good stuff, ether, much cleaner finish than something like glue. A few deep breaths through a rag will do it, puts you out in a really pleasant way. No wonder I think people used to get addicted to it - like Dr.'s in the 1800's and stuff. I'm not sure, but I can see why.
Ok, cut to the chase - under these less than ideal conditions is when we found the hymn book. On brown parchment, this crazy illustrated book had some of the wildest shit I've ever seen or read about - bar none. I'd read a lot of the so caled subversives, from Psychich TV in the 80's and some of the Manson "family" literature, but this shit is by far the most out there. It laid out some of the beliefs of these people that called themselves the Church of the Final Judgement, and these beliefs were pretty fucked up. In a nutshell these people who were a splinter group off of Scientology worshipped God and the Devil in equal measure. That humans have an inherent capacity for both good and evil and that one must balance these forces equally, in order to... I don't know what. Anyway I'll try and get some pics so I can post them here and also explain some more about it. There was one particular hymn that was really freaky and Dickon read it aloud. This is the first mention of the Satanic process that he and I ended up adopting for the month of October.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Ninja fighting for Crack
Man, that Kyle shit has really had an affect on me. I keep having dreams where I get into some fucked up fighting situation, walking down Center Street in the middle of the night. Like ninja-style fighting, roundhouse kicks and shit. I am fighting the crack dealers who slink around the projects, alternately trying to sell to me or, more likely, rob me. I have a German Shepherd on a leash that is barking ferociously at them. I am strangely embarrased by this because I realize I am walking a racist dog, this despite that these guys are trying to get me. The trolley sometimes comes to the rescue. It comes out of nowhere and I just step on, it must be an outbound trolley because it's free. It's messed up, the trolley coming at just right moment actually isn't new. The old style cars that used to run down Commenwealth Ave., have been in my dreams as long as I can remember. It's the fighting and the German Shephard that are new. It must be julian and Dickon's dog, because that's the only German Shepard I know, she's big and imposing. So the dog and the fighting, those are the new parts.
This one dream I had, I remember the faces of the guys - they were the black guys who went after Vinnie and I with the golf clubs. That was a messed up situation and I remember the main kid. He looked like a nice kid, but he was calling us motherfuckers and telling us to get the fuck out of his neighborhood. A skinny black guy. In the real incident, Vinnie and I were driving Nat's go-cart around Nat's house and we got ambushed on the bike path down by the subway tracks. The motherfuckers got me in the back of the thigh with a golf club (I think it was a putter). Fuck, I didn't mean to get into this. German Shephards, fighting, the trolley - that's about where my head is at for the moment.
Jeez, I'm sorry - I set up this stupid blog to write about the satan crap and I've barely mentioned it yet. Tomorrow, I promise.
This one dream I had, I remember the faces of the guys - they were the black guys who went after Vinnie and I with the golf clubs. That was a messed up situation and I remember the main kid. He looked like a nice kid, but he was calling us motherfuckers and telling us to get the fuck out of his neighborhood. A skinny black guy. In the real incident, Vinnie and I were driving Nat's go-cart around Nat's house and we got ambushed on the bike path down by the subway tracks. The motherfuckers got me in the back of the thigh with a golf club (I think it was a putter). Fuck, I didn't mean to get into this. German Shephards, fighting, the trolley - that's about where my head is at for the moment.
Jeez, I'm sorry - I set up this stupid blog to write about the satan crap and I've barely mentioned it yet. Tomorrow, I promise.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The Most Fucked Up Kid I Know
Fuck. I should write this down - before I go to bed. It's too fucked up to go undocumented. I really would rather not, but maybe if I can get it down I can get the image out of my head and forget about it. I'm sure it must be reported already - SOMEWHERE- although it wasn't in the paper the day after and as far as I know Kyle is still at school. They should put that guy away but there's no way in hell I'm gonna testify against him - he's fucking nuts.
I've only met him a few times, once I was walking to school and he was singing some fucked up song at the top of his lungs as we walked down the street. It was freezing that day too, so I didn't get it - I figured he must be high or crazy - he just didn't seem right. He said something to me but I don't remember what it was. Fuck, I keep getting off track. So after school on Tuesday, maybe like 3:00 not JUST after 7th period let out, but still a lot of kids waiting for the train going inbound. I was waiting around, skating the curb near the platform, waiting for the train with MJ.
I remember seeing Kyle walking across the athletic field making his way towards us, smoking a cigarette and holding the leash on this like nice looking dog. The dog was skinny and grey - I don't really know what kind, I don't know a lot of the names of dogs - but it looked like a nice dog, like a family dog or something. I don't know if he got to us before the train came, actually he must have, because he was in front of us as we started skating over to the front door of the trolley to board and pay our fare. As we came around the side of the train MJ grabbed me and pulled me out of the line. He pointed at Kyle who was standing on the track behind the train sitting on the hitch and it looked like he was tying the fucking leash to it.
Those next like 15 seconds felt like forever. It was immediately clear to me, and I guess MJ too because he was the one who stopped us, that Kyle was tying the dog to the train. I couldn't fucking believe my eyes. I couldn't quite figure it out in my head why he would do that. The first reaction I had was to yell at him, I was terrified by the guy, but a fucking dog!? I half got out "What the fuck are you doing!" before MJ grabbed me and started pulling me away - to the side of the train - where the last kids were getting on. He tried to sit me down on the bench there but I started flipping.
Kyle had already seen that we saw him, and I'll never forget the fucking grin that appeared on his face. It was serioulsy too much, I started to lose my shit and these girls across the street had started yelling at him too. I ran towards the trolley's front door just as it shut closed and the electric motor started to hum - the train was leaving! I started running alongside the trolley banging on the side of it as it slowly gained speed - trying to catch up to the driver's mirror. I was literally screaming "STOP, STOP, STOP" but I was losing the train and I heard people screaming behind me. The dog was going to get dragged down the tracks! I just knew what that fucking crazy asshole was doing, not even doubting for a second that I was wrong - this insanely evil thing that would never enter mine or anyone else's head, was instantaneously recognized, processed by my brain and spit back out as unconscious reaction. I swear I got the most insane rush when I realized, like totally realized what was happening - I was FUCKING flipping out as I turned around and saw the end of the train just coming about to pass me. The dog was there - it didn't look necessarily scared just kind of ambivalent as it trotted along behind the train. It was keeping up without too much of a problem - it was a fast dog.
Back at the station there were probably 20 or 30 people looking down the tracks - nearly all with their mouths agape in abject horror at the insanity behind me. The girls, they were like tough Point kid (Irish) girls and they were chasing Kyle away from the station - one of them had her field hockey stick raised as she chased him. Those people that could speak were screaming. I turned around just in time to catch the last seconds of the dog running behind the train, still picking up speed, as it disappeared around the bend. In the 30 or 40 seconds time it took me to run back to the station, Kyle had made it more than halfway across the field, screaming something - as the girls started to lag and run out of steam. The fucking kid got away.
I've only met him a few times, once I was walking to school and he was singing some fucked up song at the top of his lungs as we walked down the street. It was freezing that day too, so I didn't get it - I figured he must be high or crazy - he just didn't seem right. He said something to me but I don't remember what it was. Fuck, I keep getting off track. So after school on Tuesday, maybe like 3:00 not JUST after 7th period let out, but still a lot of kids waiting for the train going inbound. I was waiting around, skating the curb near the platform, waiting for the train with MJ.
I remember seeing Kyle walking across the athletic field making his way towards us, smoking a cigarette and holding the leash on this like nice looking dog. The dog was skinny and grey - I don't really know what kind, I don't know a lot of the names of dogs - but it looked like a nice dog, like a family dog or something. I don't know if he got to us before the train came, actually he must have, because he was in front of us as we started skating over to the front door of the trolley to board and pay our fare. As we came around the side of the train MJ grabbed me and pulled me out of the line. He pointed at Kyle who was standing on the track behind the train sitting on the hitch and it looked like he was tying the fucking leash to it.
Those next like 15 seconds felt like forever. It was immediately clear to me, and I guess MJ too because he was the one who stopped us, that Kyle was tying the dog to the train. I couldn't fucking believe my eyes. I couldn't quite figure it out in my head why he would do that. The first reaction I had was to yell at him, I was terrified by the guy, but a fucking dog!? I half got out "What the fuck are you doing!" before MJ grabbed me and started pulling me away - to the side of the train - where the last kids were getting on. He tried to sit me down on the bench there but I started flipping.
Kyle had already seen that we saw him, and I'll never forget the fucking grin that appeared on his face. It was serioulsy too much, I started to lose my shit and these girls across the street had started yelling at him too. I ran towards the trolley's front door just as it shut closed and the electric motor started to hum - the train was leaving! I started running alongside the trolley banging on the side of it as it slowly gained speed - trying to catch up to the driver's mirror. I was literally screaming "STOP, STOP, STOP" but I was losing the train and I heard people screaming behind me. The dog was going to get dragged down the tracks! I just knew what that fucking crazy asshole was doing, not even doubting for a second that I was wrong - this insanely evil thing that would never enter mine or anyone else's head, was instantaneously recognized, processed by my brain and spit back out as unconscious reaction. I swear I got the most insane rush when I realized, like totally realized what was happening - I was FUCKING flipping out as I turned around and saw the end of the train just coming about to pass me. The dog was there - it didn't look necessarily scared just kind of ambivalent as it trotted along behind the train. It was keeping up without too much of a problem - it was a fast dog.
Back at the station there were probably 20 or 30 people looking down the tracks - nearly all with their mouths agape in abject horror at the insanity behind me. The girls, they were like tough Point kid (Irish) girls and they were chasing Kyle away from the station - one of them had her field hockey stick raised as she chased him. Those people that could speak were screaming. I turned around just in time to catch the last seconds of the dog running behind the train, still picking up speed, as it disappeared around the bend. In the 30 or 40 seconds time it took me to run back to the station, Kyle had made it more than halfway across the field, screaming something - as the girls started to lag and run out of steam. The fucking kid got away.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Satan is a fag...
I know it's kind of gay to write about the Devil. I have this feeling though... The feeling that I'll want to know what happened later. Even if nothing happens later. I'll be better off knowing what I was thinking, am thinking now. Again, I may not becuase It's a stupid idea really, nobody believes that Satan is for real. Although those dudes in Sweden and Norway - man, that shit is HARDCORE, burning down churches and shit (you know what I'm talking about?). That takes some fucking distemper. Seriously fucked up. You have to envy them in a way, in their complete dedication to the cause.
I don't really believe in Satan or the devil, or god for that matter, but I do believe in evil. And goodness, being good. There has to be some retribution somehow, somewhere - know what I mean? At the moment though, I'm a nihilist (in the most Russian sense of the word). I recently read that book by Camus - "the Stranger" - the one that Robert Smith sings about and President Bush was reading. Pretty good book. He was feeling it too. Nothing leads to nothing. Something leads to nothing. Everything leads to nothing. We are all just quivering bags of skin that hold together a bunch of different cuts of meat that trade chemical secretions. That may not be the most spiritually comforting notion but at least your expectations aren't set too high. Who knows, maybe there is a big fat baby jesus up in the sky ready to hang out with you when you're dead. Maybe there is karma, which would jibe with evil/goodness thing. But, in the end, I doubt it...
You want evidence? Look at Mr. Butch... Could you find a guy with better karma? I doubt it, and look what happened to him.
Anyway tomorrow I'll get more into Devil stuff. That's what I wanted to write about tonight, but I guess I got kind of sidetracked. I'll do it soon though.
I don't really believe in Satan or the devil, or god for that matter, but I do believe in evil. And goodness, being good. There has to be some retribution somehow, somewhere - know what I mean? At the moment though, I'm a nihilist (in the most Russian sense of the word). I recently read that book by Camus - "the Stranger" - the one that Robert Smith sings about and President Bush was reading. Pretty good book. He was feeling it too. Nothing leads to nothing. Something leads to nothing. Everything leads to nothing. We are all just quivering bags of skin that hold together a bunch of different cuts of meat that trade chemical secretions. That may not be the most spiritually comforting notion but at least your expectations aren't set too high. Who knows, maybe there is a big fat baby jesus up in the sky ready to hang out with you when you're dead. Maybe there is karma, which would jibe with evil/goodness thing. But, in the end, I doubt it...
You want evidence? Look at Mr. Butch... Could you find a guy with better karma? I doubt it, and look what happened to him.
Anyway tomorrow I'll get more into Devil stuff. That's what I wanted to write about tonight, but I guess I got kind of sidetracked. I'll do it soon though.
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